•Bi 


PAN  S 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


Louis  and  Alice  Ansted  call  on  Claire.  p.  206 


INTERRUPTED 


BY 

PANSY, f 


AUTHOR  OF  "  AN  ENDLESS  CHAIN,"  "  MRS.   SOLOMON  SMITH  LOOKING 

ON,"  "CHRISTIE'S  CHRISTMAS,"  "A  HEDGE  FENCE,"  "  ESTER 

RIED  YET  SPEAKING,"  "  THE  HALL  IN  THE  GROVB," 

"  CHAUTAUQUA   GIRLS,"   "  RUTH   ERSKINB'S 

CROSSES,"  "  THE  MAN  OF  THE  HOUSK," 

BTC.',  ETC. 


BOSTON 
LOTHROP  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1885, 

BY 
D.  LOTHROP  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


PANSY 

TRADE-MAKK  REQISTHBBD  JCNK  4,  1895. 
*   APRIL  24,  190fi.   * 


2520 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  L 
REACHING  INTO  TO-MORBOW.        .        •        •  7 

CHAPTER  H. 
WHY?  .........          22 

CHAPTER  IH. 
OUT  IN  THE  WORLD  .        •        •        •          36 

CHAPTER  IV. 
AN  OPEN  DOOR    ......          &1 

CHAPTER  V. 
TRYING  TO  ENDURE      .....          65 

CHAPTER  VI. 

LIFTED  UP  ...••••  '  «* 

3 


4  CONTI-  NTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 
"OuB  CHUBOH." 93 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
MAKING  OPPORTUNITIES       ....        108 

CHAPTER  IX. 

OUTSIDE  THE  CIECLE  .        .        .        .        .        123 

CHAPTER  X. 
AN  OPEN  DOOR 138 

CHAPTER  XI. 
A  "FANATIC." 153 

CHAPTER  XII. 
LOGIC  AND  LABOR 168 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
INNOVATIONS Ig3 

CHAPTER  XIV. 


CONTENTS.  5 

CHAPTER  XV. 
STARTING  FOR  HOME   .        ..       .        .        .        218 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
LOST  FRIENDS      .        .         .        ...        .        235 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
SPREADING   NETS.        *        .         .        «        .        254 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BUD    IN    SEARCH    OF    COMFORT          .  .  .  271 

CHAPTER  XIX 
COMFORTED w  :     .        »        287 

CHAPTER  XX. 
BUD  AS  A  TEACHER 303 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
ONE  OF  THE  VICTIMS 318 

CHAPTER  XXH. 
NEW  LINES  OF  WORK.        .        .  '  332 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
UNPALATABLE  TBUTHS 347 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
RECOGNITION 362 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
DANGERS  SEEN  AND  UNSEEN       .        .        .        376 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
AN  ESCAPED  VICTIM 391 

CHAPTER  XXVH. 
THE  SUMMER'S  STORY.        ....        408 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
A  FAMILY  SECBET  ....        423 


INTERRUPTED. 


CHAPTER  I. 

BEACHING  INTO  TO-MORROW. 

FROM  the  back  parlor  there  came  the 
sound  of  fresh  young  voices  brimming 
with  energy.  Several  voices  at  once,  indeed, 
after  the  fashion  of  eager  young  ladies  well 
acquainted  with  one  another,  and  having 
important  schemes  to  further.  Occasionally 
there  were  bursts  of  laughter,  indicating  that 
freedom  of  speech  and  good  fellowship  reigned 
among  the  workers. 

The  committee,  or  the  society,  or  the  asso 
ciation,  whatever  it  was,  was  breaking  up", 
for  the  door  was  ajar,  one  young  lady  stand 
ing  near  it,  her  hand  out  as  if  to  open  it 
wider,  preparatory  to  departure,  while  she 
waited  to  say  another  of  the  many  last  things 
7 


8  INTERRUPTED. 

Others  were  drawing  wraps  about  them,  or 
donning  furs  and  overshoes,  and  talking  as 
they  worked.  Their  voices,  clear  and  brisk, 
sounded  distinctly  down  the  long  hall. 

"  And  about  the  Committee  on  Award ; 
you  will  attend  to  that,  Claire,  will  you 
not?" 

"  Oh,  and  what  are  we  to  do  about  Mrs. 
Stuart?" 

"Why,  Claire  promised  to  see  her.  She 
is  just  the  one  to  do  it.  Mrs.  Stuart  will 
do  anything  for  her." 

"And,  Claire,  you  must  be  sure  to  see  the 
Snyders  before  the  judge  starts  on  his  South 
ern  trip !  If  we  don't  get  his  positive  prom 
ise,  we  may  have  trouble." 

"  Claire  Benedict,  you  promised  to  help  me 
with  my  Turkish  costume,  you  know.  I 
haven't  the  least  idea  how  to  get  it  up." 

Then   a    younger   voice: 

"  Miss  Claire,  you  will  drill  me  on  my 
recitation,  won't  you  ?  Mamma  says  you  are 
just  the  one  to  show  me  how." 

"  And,  oh !  Claire,  don't  forget  to  see  that 
ponderous  Doctor  Wheelock  and  get  his  sub- 


REACHING    INTO    TO-MORROW.  9 

scription.  It  frightens  me  to  think  of  going 
to  him." 

In  the  sitting-room  opposite  stood  Claire's 
younger  sister,  Dora  Benedict.  She  had  just 
come  in  from  the  outer  world,  and  with  part 
of  her  wraps  still  gathered  about  her,  stood 
watching  the  falling  snow,  and  listening  to 
the  voices  in  the  back  parlor.  At  this  point 
she  spoke : 

"  Mamma,  just  hear  the  girls !  They  are 
heaping  up  the  work  on  Claire,  giving  her 
the  planning  and  the  collecting  and  the  drill 
ing,  and  the  greater  portion  of  the  programme 
to  attend  to,  and  she  calmly  agrees  to  do 
it  all." 

"Your  sister  has  a  great  amount  of  execu 
tive  ability,  my  dear,  and  is  always  to  be 
depended  on.  Such  people  are  sure  to  have 
plenty  of  burdens  to  carry." 

Mrs.  Benedict  said  this  in  a  gently  modu 
lated,  satisfied  voice,  and  leaned  back  in  .her 
easy  chair  and  smiled  as  she  spoke.  She 
delayed  a  stitch  in  her  crimson  tidy,  while 
she  listened  a  moment  to  the  sound  of  Claire's 
voice,  calmly  and  assuringly  shouldering  the 


IO  INTERRUPTED. 

burdens  of  work;  promising  here,  offering 
there,  until  the  listeners  in  the  sitting-room 
were  prepared  to  sympathize  with  the  words 
spoken  in  the  parlor  in  a  relieved  tone  of 
voice:  . 

"I  declare,  Claire  Benedict,  you  are  a  host 
in  yourself!  What  we  should  do  without  you 
is  more  than  I  can  imagine." 

"  I  should  think  as  much  ! "  This  from  the 
girl  in  the  brown-plumed  hat,  who  listened 
in  the  next  room.  "You  couldn't  do  with 
out  her!  that  is  just  all  there  would  be 
about  it!  Two  thirds  of  your  nice  plans, 
for  which  you  get  so  much  credit,  would  fall 
through.  Mamma,  do  you  think  Claire  ought 
to  attempt  so  much  ? " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  responded  the  gen 
tle-faced  woman  thus  appealed  to,  pausing 
again  in  her  fancy  work  to  consider  the 
question.  "  Claire  has  remarkable  talent,  you 
know,  in  all  these  directions.  She  is  a  born 
organizer,  and  leader,  and  the  girls  are  will 
ing  to  follow  her  lead.  I  don't  know  but 
she  works  too  hard.  It  is  difficult  to  avoid 
that,  with  so  many  people  depending  on  her 


REACHING    INTO   TO-MORROW.  II 

I  don't  myself  see  how  they  would  manage 
without  her.  You  know  Doctor  Ellis  feels 
much  the  same.  He  was  telling  your  father, 
only  last  night,  that  there  was  not  another 
young  lady  in  the  church  on  whom  he  could 
depend  as  he  did  on  her.  Your  father  was 
amused  at  his  earnestness.  He  said  he  should 
almost  feel  like  giving  up  his  pastorate  here, 
if  he  should  lose  her.  Claire  is  certainly  a 
power  in  the  church,  and  the  society  gener 
ally.  I  should  feel  sorry  for  them  if  they 
were  to  lose  her." 

The  mother  spoke  this  sentence  quietly, 
with  the  unruffled  look  of  peace  and  satis 
faction  on  her  face.  No  foreboding  of  loss 
came  to  her.  She  thought,  it  is  true,  of  the 
barely  possible  time  when  her  eldest  daugh 
ter  might  go  out  from  this  home  into  some 
other,  and  have  other  cares  and  responsibili 
ties,  but  the  day  seemed  very  remote.  Claire 
was  young,  and  was  absorbed  in  her  church 
and  home  work. 

Apparently,  even  the  suggestion  of  another 
home  had  not  come  to  her.  It  might  never 
come.  She  might  live  always  in  the  dear 


12  INTERRUPTED. 

home  nest,  sheltered,  and  sheltering,  in  her 
turn,  others  less  favored.  Or  in  the  event 
of  a  change,  some  time  in  the  future,  it 
might  be,  possibly,  just  from  one  street  in 
the  same  city  to  another,  and  much  of  the 
old  life  go  on  still ;  and  in  any  event  the 
mother  could  say  "  their  loss,"  not  mine ; 
for  the  sense  of  possible  separation  had  not 
come  near  enough  to  shadow  the  mother's 
heart  as  yet;  she  lived  in  the  dreamland  of 
belief  that  a  married  daughter  would  be  as 
near  to  the  mother  and  the  home  as  an 
unmarried  one.  Therefore  her  face  was  placid, 
and  she  sewed  her  crimson  threads  and  talked 
placidly  of  what  might  have  been,  but  was 
not;  the  future  looked  secure  and  smiling. 
"You  see,"  she  continued  to  the  young 
and  but  half-satisfied  daughter,  "it  is  an 
unusual  combination  of  things  that  makes 
your  sister  so  important  to  this  society. 
There  are  not  many  girls  in  it  who  have 
wealth  and  leisure,  and  the  peculiar  talents 
required  for  leadership.  Run  over  the  list  in 
your  mind,  and  you  will  notice  that  those 
who  have  plenty  of  time  would  not  know 


REACHING    INTO   TO-MORROW.  13 

what  to  do  with  it  unless  Claire  were  here 
to  tell  them,  and  those  who  have  plenty  of 
money  would  fritter  it  all  away,  without  her 
to  guide,  and  set  a  grand  example  for 
them." 

"  I  am  not  questioning  her  ability,  mamma,'* 
the  daughter  said,  with  a  little  laugh,  "  that  is, 
her  mental  ability;  but  it  seems  to  me  they 
ought  to  remember  that  she  has  a  body,  as 
well  as  the  others.  Still,  she  will  always 
work  at  something,  I  suppose ;  she  is  made 
in  that  mold.  Mamma,  what  do  you  sup 
pose  Claire  would  do  if  she  were  poor?" 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea,  daughter.  I 
hope  she  would  do  the  best  she  could ;  but 
I  think  I  feel  grateful  that  there  seems 
little  probability  of  our  discovering  by  experi 
ence." 

"  Still,  one  can  never  tell  what  may  hap 
pen." 

"Oh,  no,  that  is  true;  I  was  speaking  of 
probabilities." 

Still  the  mother's  face  was  placid.  She 
called  them  probabilities,  but  when  she  thought 
of  her  husband's  wealth  and  position  in  the 


14  INTERRUPTED. 

mercantile  world,  they  really  seemed  to  her 
very  much  like  certainties. 

And  now  the  little  coterie  in  the  back 
parlor  broke  up  in  earnest,  and,  exclaiming 
over  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  made  haste 
into  the  snowy  world  outside. 

Claire  followed  the  last  one  to  the  door ; 
a  young  and  pretty  girl,  afraid  of  her  own 
decided  capabilities,  unless  kissed  and  petted 
by  this  stronger  spirit  into  using  them. 

"You  will  be  sure  to  do  well,  Alice  dear, 
and  remember  I  depend  on  you." 

This  was  the  last  drop  of  dew  for  the 
frightened  young  flower,  and  it  brightened 
visibly  under  it,  and  murmured: 

"  I  will  do  my  best ;  I  don't  want  to  dis 
appoint  you." 

Then  Claire  came  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  dropped  with  an  air  of  satisfied  weari 
ness  into  one  of  the  luxurious  chairs,  and 
folded  her  hands  to  rest. 

"Dora  thinks  you  are  carrying  too  much 
on  your  shoulders,  dear."  This  from  the 
fancy  worker. 

"Oh,  no,  mamma,  my  shoulders   are  strong. 


REACHING    INTO    TO-MORROW.  15 

Everything  is  in  fine  train.  I  think  our  girls 
are  really  getting  interested  in  missions  now, 
as  well  as  in  having  a  good  time .  that  is 
what  I  am  after,  you  know,  but  some  of 
them  don't  suspect  it.  Why  didn't  you  come 
to  the  committee  meeting,  Dora  ? " 

"  I  have  but  just  come  in  from  Strausser's, 
on  that  commission,  you  know,  and  I  thought 
if  I  appeared,  there  would  be  so  many  ques 
tions  to  answer,  and  so  much  to  explain, 
that  the  girls  would  not  get  away  to-night." 

"Oh,  did  you  see  Mr.  Strausser?  Well, 
what  did  he  say  ? "  And  Claire  sat  erect, 
her  weariness  gone,  and  gave  herself  to  work 
again. 

The  door  bell  rang,  and  she  was  presently 
summoned  to  the  hall. 

"  One  of  your  poor  persons,"  was  the  ser 
vant's  message. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  long  story  to  tell, 
and  Claire  listened,  and  questioned,  and 
commented,  and  rang  the  bell  to  give  di- 
.rections  for  a  certain  package  from  a  certain 
closet  to  be  brought,  and  sent  Dora  to 
her  room  for  her  pocket-book,  and  finally 


16  INTERRUPTED. 

the  "  poor  person "  went  away,  her  voice 
sounding  cheered  and  grateful  as  she  said 
inquiringly : 

41  Then  you  will  be  sure  to  come  over  to 
morrow?" 

Dora  laughed,  as  Claire  returned  to  the 
easy  chair. 

"  How  many  things  you  are  going  to  do 
to-morrow,  Claire?  I  heard  you  promise  the 
girls  a  dozen  or  so.  And  that  reminds  me 
that  Doctor  Ellis  wants  to  know  if  you 
will  look  in  to-morrow,  and  go  with  Mrs. 
Ellis  to  call  on  a  new  family,  of  whom  he 
said  he  told  you." 

"I  know,"  said  Claire,  "I  was  thinking 
about  them  this  morning.  I  must  try  and 
go  to-morrow.  They  are  people  who  ought 
not  to  be  neglected.  Did  he  say  at  what 
hour?  Oh,  mamma,  have  you  that  broth 
ready  for  aunt  Kate  ?  I  might  go  around 
there  with  it  now :  I  shall  not  have  time 
to-morrow,  and  I  promised  her  I  would  come 
myself  before  the  week  closed." 

Then  the  fast  falling  snow  was  discussed, 
and  demurred  over  a  little  by  mother  and 


REACHING   INTO   TO-MORROW.  I/ 

younger  sister,  and  laughingly  accepted  by 
Claire  as  a  pleasant  accessory  to  a  winter 
walk  ;  and  it  ended,  as  things  were  apt  to 
end  in  that  family,  in  Claire  having  her 
own  way,  and  sallying  forth  equipped  for 
the  storm,  with  her  basket  of  comforts  on 
her  arm. 

She  looked  back  to  Dora  to  say  that 
mamma  must  not  worry  if  she  were  detained, 
for  she  had  promised  to  look  in  at  Mr. 
Anstead's  and  make  some  arrangements  for 
to-morrow's  committee  meeting ;  and  to  add 
that  the  papers  in  the  library  were  to  be 
left  as  they  were,  ready  for  to-morrow." 

"  It  is  the  eventful  day,"  she  said,  laugh 
ingly,  "our  work  is  to  culminate  then.  We 
are  to  discover  what  the  fruit  of  all  this 
getting  ready  is ;  we  are  to  have  things 
just  as  they  are  to  be,  without  a  break  or 
a  pause." 

"  Perhaps,"   said    Dora. 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  perhaps,'  you  naughty 
croaker?  Do  you  dare  to  think  that  any 
thing  will  be  less  than  perfect  after  the 
weeks  of  labor  we  have  given  it?" 


1 8  INTERRUPTED. 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  Nothing  is  ever  per 
fect.  Did  you  never  notice,  Claire,  that  it  is 
impossible  to  get  through  a  single  day  just 
as  one  plans  it  ?  " 

"I  have  noticed  it,"  Claire  answered,  smil 
ing,  "  but  I  did  not  know  that  your  young 
head  had  taken  it  in." 

"  Ah,  but  I  have.  /  plan  occasionally, 
myself,  but  I  am  like  Paul  in  one  thing, 
any  way,  'how  to  perform  I  find  not.'  It 
is  worse  on  Saturday  than  any  other  day. 
I  almost  never  do  as  I  intended." 

"  I  wouldn't  quote  Bible  verses  with  a 
twisted  meaning,  if  I  were  you,  little  girl. 
It  is  a  dangerous  habit ;  I  know  by  ex 
perience.  They  so  perfectly  fit  into  life, 
that  one  is  sorely  tempted.  But  I  am  not 
often  troubled  in  the  way  you  mention  ; 
my  plans  generally  come  out  all  right. 
Possibly  because  I  have  studied  them  from 
several  sides,  and  foreseen  and  provided  for 
hindrances.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  that. 
You  see,  to-morrow,  if  I  don't  get  through 
with  all  the  engagements  laid  out  for  it.  I 
have  studied  them  all,  and  there  really  can't 


REACHING    INTO   TO-MORROW.  IQ 

anything  happen  to  throw  me  very  far  off 
my  programme." 

There  was  an  air  of  complacency  about 
the  speaker,  and  a  satisfied  smile  on  her 
face  as  she  tripped  briskly  away.  She  was  a 
skilful  and  successful  general.  Was  there 
any  harm  in  her  realizing  it? 

Dora   went   back   to   the   gentle   mother. 

"  The  house  will  be  alive  all  day  to-mor 
row,  mamma.  Claire  has  half  a  dozen  com 
mittee  meetings  here  at  different  hours,  and 
a  great  rehearsal  of  all  their  exercises  for 
the  literary  entertainment.  There  will  be  no 
place  for  quiet,  well-behaved  people  like  you 
and  me.  What  do  you  suppose  is  the  mat 
ter  with  me?  I  feel  like  a  croaker.  If 
Claire  had  not  just  scolded  me  for  quoting 
the  Bible  to  suit  my  moods,  I  should  have 
said  to  her,  '  Boast  not  thyself  of  to-morrow, 
for  thou  knowest  not  what  a  day  may 
bring  forth.'" 

Mrs.  Benedict  looked  up  searchingly  into 
the  face  of  her  young  daughter,  who  was 
so  unlike  her  sister,  who  took  life  doubt 
fully,  and  bristled  with  interrogation  points. 


2O  INTERRUPTED. 

and  dreamed  while  the  other  worked,  and 
leaned  on  Claire  everywhere  and  always, 
even  as  she  knew  she  did  herself. 

"  Claire  isn't  boastful,  dear,  I  think,"  she 
said  gently.  "  It  is  right  for  her  to  rest 
in  the  brightness  of  the  present  and  to  trust 
to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  she  has  planned  to-morrow,  mamma ; 
there  is  nothing  to  trust  about." 

Then   after   a   moment : 

"  Mamma,  she  is  good  and  splendid,  just 
as  she  always  is,  and  I  am  cross." 

Whereupon  she  sprang  to  meet  her  father, 
and  before  he  had  divested  himself  of  his 
snowy  great-coat,  she  had  covered  his  bearded 
face  with  kisses  and  dropped  some  tears  on 
his  hands. 

It  was  after  family  worship  that  evening, 
when  the  father  stood  with  a  daughter  on 
either  side  of  him,  with  an  arm  around  each, 
that  he  rallied  Dora  on  her  tearful  greeting. 

"  Dora  is  mercurial,"  her  mother  said. 
"  Her  birthday  comes  in  April,  and  there  is 
very  apt  to  be  a  shower  right  in  the  midst 
of  sunshine  " 


REACHING   INTO  TO-MORROW.  21 

"She  has  studied  too  hard  to-day,"  the 
father  said,  kissing  her  fondly.  "  After  a 
good  night's  rest,  the  sunshine  will  get  the 
better  of  the  showers." 

"  They  both  need  developing  in  exactly 
different  ways,"  he  said  to  the  mother  when 
they  were  left  to  themselves. 

He  looked  after  his  two  beautiful  girls 
fondly  as  he  spoke,  but  the  last  words  they 
had  heard  from  him  were : 

"  Good-night,  daughters !  Get  ready  for  a 
bright  to-morrow.  The  storm  is  about  over." 

"  The  storm  did  not  trouble  me,"  said 
Claire.  "  Real  work  often  gets  on  better  in 
a  storm ;  and  I  think  we  shall  have  a 
chance  to  try  it.  I  think  papa  is  mistaken  ; 
the  sky  says  to  me  that  we  shall  have  a 
stormy  day." 

When  "  to-morrow "  came,  the  sun  shone 
brilliantly  in  a  cloudless  sky ;  but  every 
shutter  in  the  Benedict  mansion  was  closed, 
and  crape  streamed  from  the  doorknobs  ; 
and  during  all  that  memorable  day  neither 
daughter  did  one  thing  that  had  been  planned 
for  the  day  before. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHY? 

JUST  at  midnight — that  is,  just  at  the 
dawning  of  the  "  to-morrow "  for  which 
so  much  had  been  planned  —  Claire  was 
awakened  b\r  a  quick,  decisive  knock  at  her 
door,  followed  by  a  voice  which  expressed 
haste  and  terror : 

"  Miss  Claire,  your  mother  wants  you  to 
come  right  away,  and  bring  Miss  Dora. 
Your  father  is  sick." 

And  Claire  was  alert  in  an  instant,  wak 
ening,  soothing  and  helping  the  frightened 
Dora.  She  herself  was  not  greatly  alarmed. 
It  is  true,  her  father  was  not  subject  to 
sudden  illnesses ;  but  then,  men  were  often 
sick,  and  very  sick,  too,  while  the  attack 
lasted.  She  called  to  mind  the  story  Nettie 
Stuart  had  told  her  that  afternoon,  how 
11 


WHY  ?  23 

"  papa  was  so  ill  the  night  before  that  they 
really  thought  he  would  die,  and  everybody 
in  the  house  was  up  waiting  on  him."  Yet 
"papa "had  been  at  the  bank  that  next  day, 
looking  nearly  as  well  as  usual.  Had  it 
been  her  frail  mother  who  was  ill,  Claire 
felt  that  her  pulses  would  have  quickened 
more  than  they  did  now.  Mamma  did  not 
seem  strong  enough  to  bear  much  pain,  but 
papa  was  a  man  of  iron  frame,  everybody 
said. 

She  told  over  some  of  these  encouraging 
thoughts  to  Dora,  while  she  helped  her  to 
dress  : 

"  Don't  tremble  so,  darling ;  there  is  noth 
ing  to  be  frightened  about.  Papa  has  one 
of  his  dreadful  headaches,  I  presume,  and 
mamma  needs  us  to  help  care  for  him.  You 
know  she  is  not  feeling  so  well  as  usual.  She 
promised  to  call  me  the  next  time  papa 
needed  nursing.  Men  are  so  unused  to  suf 
fering,  that  a  pain  is  something  terrible  to 
them  while  it  lasts." 

They  sped  down  the  stairs  together,  Claire 
having  slackened  none  of  her  speed  because 


24  INTERRUPTED. 

she  believed  there  was  no  cause  for  alarm. 
Her  hand  was  on  her  mother's  doorknob, 
when  the  door  swung  open,  and  the  mother's 
white  face  made  her  start  back  in  affright. 

"Where  are  they?"  she  said,  in  a  strange, 
agonized"  voice,  groping  about  with  her  hand 
as  though  she  did  not  see  distinctly,  though 
the  hall  was  brightly  lighted.  "O,  children, 
children,  you  are  too  late!  Oh,  why" — and 
she  fell  senseless  at  their  feet;  and  Claire 
was  bending  over  her,  lifting  her  in  trem 
bling  arms,  trying  to  speak  soothing  words, 
all  the  time  wondering  in  a  terror-stricken 
way  what  all  this  could  mean  !  Too  late  for 
what? 

They  had  to  settle  down  to  inevitable 
facts,  as  so  many  poor  souls  before,  and 
since,  have  had  to  do.  Of  course,  the  first 
wildness  of  grief  passed,  and  they  realized 
but  too  well  that  the  father  who  had  kissed 
them  and  bade  them  look  out  for  a  blight 
to-morrow,  had  gone  away,  and  taken  all 
the  brightness  of  the  to-morrow  with  him. 
At  first  they  could  not  believe  it  possible. 
Father  dead!  Why,  his  robust  frame  and 


WHY  ?  25 

splendid  physique  had  been  the  remark  of 
guests  ever  since  they  could  remember! 
He  had  been  fond  of  boasting  that  a  physi 
cian  had  not  been  called  for  him  in  twenty 
years. 

Well,  the  physician  arrived  too  late  on  this 
particular  night,  when  he  had  been  called ; 
another  call  had  been  louder,  and  the  father 
went  to  answer  to  it.  Well  for  him  that  he 
had  long  before  made  ready  for  this  journe}r, 
and  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  summons 
that  would  have  alarmed  him,  had  he  been 
given  time  to  have  realized  it. 

The  poor  widow  went  over,  again  and 
again,  the  details  of  .that  awful  hour: 

"  We  had  a  little  talk  together,  just  as 
usual.  Much  of  it  was  about  you ;  that  was 
natural,  too ;  he  talked  a  great  deal  about 
you,  children ;  and  on  that  evening,  he  said, 
after  you  left  the  room,  that  you  both  needed 
developing  in  different  ways,  and  sometimes 
it  troubled  him  to  know  how  it  was  to  be 
done.  I  did  not  understand  him,  and  I 
asked  what  he  meant  He  said  some  things 
that  I  will  try  to  tell  you  when  my  head 


26  INTERRUPTED. 

is  clearer.  He  was  very  earnest  about  it, 
and  asked  me  to  kneel  down  with  him,  and 
he  prayed  again  for  yon,  dear  girls,  and 
for  me,  a  wonderful  prayer.  It  wasn't  like 
any  that  I  ever  heard  before.  Oh,  I  might 
have  known  then  that  it  was  to  prepare 
me ;  but  I  didn't  think  of  such  a  thing.  I 
asked  him  if  he  felt  well,  and  he  said,  oh, 
yes,  only  more  tired  than  usual;  it  had 
been  a  hard  day,  and  there  were  business 
matters  that  were  not  so  smooth  as  he  could 
wish.  But  he  told  me  there  was  nothing  to 
worry  about ;  only  affairs  that  would  require 
careful  handling,  such  as  he  meant  to  give 
them.  Then  he  dropped  to  sleep,  and  I  lay 
awake  a  little,  thinking  over  what  he  had 
said  about  you  two,  and  wondering  if  he 
was  right  in  his  conclusions.  At  last  I  slept, 
too,  and  I  knew  nothing  more  until  his  heavy 
breathing  awakened  me. 

"  I  made  all  possible  haste  for  lights,  and 
sent  for  the  doctor  and  for  you  just  as  soon 
as  I  could  get  an  answer  to  the  bell ;  and 
Thomas  was  quick,  too,  but  it  seemed  an 
age.  The  moment  I  had  a  glimpse  of  your 


WHY  ?  27 

father's  face,  I  knew  something  dreadful  was 
the  matter  ;  but  I  did  not  think,  even  then, 
that  he  was  going  to  leave  me." 

At  this  point  the  desolate  wife  would 
break  into  a  storm  of  tears,  and  the  daugh 
ters  would  give  themselves  to  soothing  words 
and  tender  kisses,  and  put  aside  as  best 
they  could  the  consuming  desire  to  know 
what  that  dear  father's  last  thoughts  had 
been  for  them. 

Well,  the  days  passed.  Isn't  it  curious 
how  time  moves  along  steadily,  after  the 
object  for  which  we  think  time  was  made 
has  slipped  away? 

This  sudden  death,  however,  had  made  an 
unusual  break  in  the  usual  order  of  things. 
Mr.  Benedict's  name  was  too  closely  identi 
fied  with  all  the  business  interests  of  the 
city,  as  well  as  with  its  moral  and  religious 
interests,  not  to  have  his  departure  from 
their  midst  make  great  differences,  and  be 
widely  felt. 

The  few  days  following  his  death  were 
days  of  general  and  spontaneous  public 
demonstration.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  fu- 


28  INTERRUPTED. 

neral,  great  warehouses  were  closed,  because 
his  name  was  identified  with  them ;  stores 
were  closed,  because  crape  waved  from  the 
doors  of  his,  the  largest  in  the  Hue.  The 
First  National  Bank  was  closed,  for  he  was 
one  of  the  Directors.  The  public  schools 
were  closed,  because  he  had  been  prominent 
among  their  Board  of  Directors  ;  and  it  was 
so  that  on  every  street  some  token  of  the 
power  of  the  great  man  gone  was  shown. 

As  for  the  church,  and  the  Sabbath-school, 
and  the  prayer-room,  they  were  draped  in 
mourning  ;  but  that  feebly  expressed  the 
sense  of  loss. 

"  We  cannot  close  our  doors  to  show  our 
sorrow,"  said  Doctor  Ellis,  his  lips  tremulous; 
"we  have  need  to  throw  them  more  widely 
open,  and  rally  with  renewed  effort,  for  one 
of  the  mighty  is  fallen." 

To  the  widow  and  her  girls,  there  was, 
as  the  hours  passed,  a  sort  of  sad  pleasure 
in  noting  this  universal  mourning ;  in  listen 
ing  to  the  tearful  words  expressing  a  sense 
of  personal  loss,  which  came  right  from  the 
hearts  of  so  many  men  and  women  and 


WHY  ?  29 

children.  They  began  to  see  that  they,  had 
not  half  realized  his  power  in  the  commu 
nity,  as  young  men  in  plain,  sometimes  rough 
dress,  men  whose  names  they  had  never 
heard,  and  whose  faces  they  had  never  seen, 
came  and  stood  over  the  coffin,  and  dropped 
great  tears  as  they  told  in  the  brief  and 
subdued  language  of  the  heart,  of  some  lift, 
or  word,  or  touch  of  kindness,  that  this  man 
had  given  them,  just  when  they  needed  it  most. 
Born  of  these  tender  and  grateful  tributes 
from  all  classes,  was  a  drop  of  bitterness 
that  seemed  to  spread  as  Claire  turned  it 
over  in  her  troubled  heart.  It  could  all  be 
suggested  to  those  familiar  with  the  intrica 
cies  of  the  human  heart,  by  that  one  little 
word,  Why  ?  It  sometimes  becomes  an  awful 
word,  with  power  to  torture  the  torn  heart 
almost  to  madness.  "  Why  was  father,  a 
man  so  good,  so  true,  so  grand,  so  sadly 
needed  in  this  wicked  world,  snatched  from 
it  just  in  the  prime  of  his  power  ? "  She 
brooded  over  this  in  silence  and  in  secret 
—  not  wishing  to  burden  her  mother's  heart 
by  the  query,  not  liking  to  add  a  sugges- 


3<D  INTERRUPTED. 

tion  of  bitterness  to  Dora's  sorrowful  cup. 
Only  once,  when  a  fresh  exhibition  of  his 
care  for  others,  and  the  fruit  it  bore,  was 
unexpectedly  made  to  them,  she  was  be 
trayed  into  exclaiming : 

"I    cannot   understand   why   it   was!" 
Whether  the  mother  understood  her  or  not, 
she  did  not   know.     She   hoped    not;    she   was 
sorry    she    had    spoken.      But    presently    the 
mother   roused   herself  to   say   gently : 

"  You  girls  were  on  your  father's  heart  in 
a  strange  way.  That  last  talk  about  you  I 
must  try  to  tell  you  of,  when  I  can.  The 
substance  of  it  I  have  told  you.  He  thought 
you  both  needed  developing.  Dora  dear,  he 
said  you  needed  more  self-reliance ;  that 
you  had  too  many  props,  and  depended 
on  them.  He  might  have  said  the  same  of 
me ;  I  depended  on  him  more  than  I  knew. 
He  said  you  needed  to  be  thrust  out  a  little, 
and  learn  to  stand  alone,  and  brave  winds 
and  storms.  And  Claire,  I  don't  think  I  fully 
understood  what  he  wanted  for  you,  only  he 
said  that  you  needed  to  trust  lets  to  your 
own  self,  and  lean  on  Christ." 


WHY?  31 

After  this  word  from  her  father,  Claire 
sat  in  startled  silence  for  a  few  minutes, 
then  took  it  to  her  room. 

Did  you  ever  notice  that  the  storms  of  life 
seem  almost  never  to  come  in  detached  waves, 
but  follow  each  other  in  rapid  succession? 

When  the  Benedict  family  parted  for  the 
night,  less  than  a  week  after  the  father  had 
been  laid  in  the  grave,  Dora  said  listlessly 
to  her  sister : 

"  There  is  one  little  alleviation,  I  think,  to 
a  heavy  blow  —  for  a  while,  at  least,  nothing 
else  seems  heavy.  Things  that  troubled  me 
last  week  seem  so  utterly  foolish  to-day.  I 
don't  this  evening  seem  to  care  for  anything 
that  could  happen  to  us  now ;  to  us  three, 
I  mean." 

Before  noon  of  the  next  day  she  thought 
of  that  sentence  again  with  a  sort  of  dull 
surprise  at  her  own  folly. 

How  do  such  things  occur?  I  can  not 
tell.  Yet  how  many  times  in  your  life  have 
you  personally  known  of  them  —  families  who 
are  millionnaires  to-day,  and  beggars  to-mor 
row?  It  was  just  that  sort  of  blow  which 


32  INTERRUPTED. 

came  to  the  Benedicts.  Came,  indeed,  be 
cause  of  the  other  one,  and  followed  hard 
after  it.  Business  men  tried  to  explain  mat 
ters  to  the  widow.  A  peculiar  complication 
of  circumstances  existed,  which  called  for  her 
husband's  clear  brain  and  wise  handling.  Had 
he  lived,  all  would  have  been  well ;  there 
was  scarcely  a  doubt  of  it.  Had  he  been 
able  to  give  one  week  more  to  business,  he 
would  have  shaped  everything  to  his  mind; 
but  the  call  came  just  at  the  moment  when 
he  could  least  be  spared,  and  financial  ruin 
had  followed. 

Mrs.  Benedict,  in  her  widow's  cap,  with 
her  plaintive  white  face,  her  delicate,  trem 
bling  hands  working  nervously  in  her  lap,  from 
which  the  crimson  fancy  work  was  gone, 
tried  to  understand  the  bewilderments  which, 
one  after  another,  were  presented  to  her,  and 
grew  less  and  less  able  to  take  in  the  mean 
ing  of  the  great  words,  and  at  last  raised" 
herself  from  her  easy  chair,  looked  round  piti 
fully  for  Claire,  and  sank  back  among  the 
cushions  —  her  face,  if  .possible,  whiter  than 
before. 


WHY  ?  33 

The  elder  daughter  came  swiftly  forward 
from  her  obscurity  in  the  back  parlor,  and 
stood  beside  her  mother. 

"I  beg  pardon,  gentlemen,  but  mamma  does 
not  understand  business  terms;  my  father 
never  burdened  her  with  them.  Will  you  let 
me  ask  3-011  a  few  plain  questions?  Is  my 
father's  money  all  gone  ? " 

The  gentlemen  looked  from  one  to  another, 
and  hesitated.  At  last  the  lawyer  among 
them  said  he  feared  —  that  is,  it  was  believed 
—  it  seemed  to  be  almost  certain  that  when 
all  the  business  was  settled,  there  would  be 
a  mere  pittance  left. 

The  next  question  caused  two  red  spots 
to  glow  on  Claire's  cheeks,  but  she  held  her 
head  erect,  and  her  voice  was  steady : 

"And  do  the}''  —  does  anybody  think  that 
my  father  did  wrong  in  any  way?" 

"  Mamma,"  with  a  tender,  apologetic  glance 
at  her,  "  people  say  such  things  sometimes, 
you  know,  when  they  do  not  understand." 

But    the    gentlemen    could  be   voluble   now : 

"  Oh,  no !  no,  indeed !  not  a  breath  of  sus 
picion  attached  to  his  name.  His  intentions 


34  INTERRUPTED. 

were  as  clear  as  the  sunlight,  and  the  fact 
was,  he  had  periled  his  own  fortune  in  a 
dangerous  time,  to  help  others  who  were  in 
straits,  and  he  had  been  called  to  leave  it  at 
a  dangerous  time,  and  disaster  has  followed." 

One    question  more : 

"Will  others  be  sufferers  through  this  dis 
aster  ?  " 

The  answer  was  not  so  ready.  The  gentle 
men  seemed  to  find  it  necessary  to  look  again 
at  one  another.  They,  however,  finally  ad 
mitted,  to  each  other,  that  there  was  property 
enough  to  cover  everybody's  loss,  if  that  were 
the  wish  of  the  family ;  this,  without  any 
doubt,  but  there  would  be  almost  nothing 
left. 

"Very  well,"  Claire  said,  "then  we  can 
bear  it.  We  thank  you,  gentlemen,  and  you 
may  be  sure  of  this  one  thing  —  that  no  per 
son  shall  lose  a  penny  through  our  father's 
loss,  if  we  can  help  it.  Now,  may  I  ask  you 
to  leave  further  particulars  until  another  time  ? 
Mamma  has  borne  as  much  as  she  can  to- 
day." 

And    the    gentlemen,    as    they    went    down 


WHY  ?  35 

the  steps  of  the  great  brownstone  front,  said 
to  each  other  that  Benedict  had  left  a 
splendid  girl,  with  self-reliance  enough  to  man 
age  for  herself  and  take  care  of  the  family. 

Yet  I  suppose  there  had  never  been  a  time 
when  Claire  Benedict  felt  more  as  though 
all  the  powers  which  had  hitherto  sustained 
her,  were  about  to  desert,  and  leave  her  help 
less,  than  she  did  when  she  controlled  her 
own  dismay,  and  helped  her  mother  to  bed, 
and  sat  beside  her,  and  bathed  her  head, 
and  steadily  refused  to  talk,  or  to  hear  her 
mother  talk,  about  this  new  calamity,  but 
literally  hushed  her  into  quiet  and  to  sleep. 

Then,  indeed,  she  took  time  to  cry,  as  few 
girls  cry ;  as  Claire  Benedict  had  never  cried 
before  in  her  life. 

Her  self-reliance  seemed  gone.  As  the  pas 
sion  of  her  voiceless  grief  swayed  and  fairly 
frightened  her,  there  stole  suddenly  into  her 
heart  the  memory  of  the  last  message : 
"  Claire  needs  to  trust  less  to  herself,  and 
lean  on  Christ." 


CHAPTER  III. 

OUT   IN  THE  WORLD. 

I  AM  not  sure  that  I  would,  even  if  I  could, 
give  you  a  detailed  account  of  the  days 
which  followed. 

What  is  the  use  of  trying  to  live  pain 
over  again  on  paper  ?  Yet  some  people  need 
practice  of  this  sort  to  enable  them  to  have 
any  idea  of  the  sorrows  of  other  hearts. 

I  wonder  if  you  ever  went  through  a  large, 
elegantly  furnished  house,  from  room  to  room, 
and  dismantled  it?  Packing  away  this  thing 
as  far  as  possible  from  curious  eyes,  soiling 
the  velvet,  or  the  satin,  or  the  gilding  of  it, 
perhaps,  with  bitter  tears  while  you  worked  ; 
marking  that  thing  with  a  ticket  containing 
two  words  which  had  become  hateful  to  you, 
"For  sale;"  hiding  away  some  special  trea 
sure  in  haste,  lest  the  unexpected  sight  of  it 
36 


OUT    IN   THE    WORLD.  37 

might  break  a  heart  that  was  just  now  bear 
ing  all  it  could.  Has  such  experience  ever 
been  yours?  Then  you  know  all  about  it, 
and  can  in  imagination  follow  Claire  Bene 
dict  from  attic  to  basement  of  her  father's 
house  ;  and  no  words  of  mine  can  make  the 
picture  plainer.  If  it  is  something  you  have 
never  experienced,  or  even  remotely  touched, 
you  may  think  you  are  sympathetic,  and  you 
may  gravely  try  to  be,  but  nothing  that 
printed  words  can  say  will  be  apt  to  help 
you  much  in  realizing  the  bitterness  of  such 
hours. 

Isn't  it  a  blessed  thing  that  it  is  so?  Sup 
pose  we  actually  bore  on  our  hearts  the  in 
dividual  griefs  of  the  world  ?  How  long  would 
our  poor  bodies  be  in  breaking  under  the 
strain?  "He  hath  borne  our  griefs  and  carried 
our  sorrows."  It  took  the  Infinite  to  do  this. 

Through  all  the  miseries  of  the  two  weeks 
during  which  the  process  of  dismantling  went 
on,  Claire  Benedict  sustained  her  character 
for  self-reliance  and  systematic  energy.  She 
stood  between  her  mother  and  the  world.  She 
interviewed  carmen,  and  porters,  and  auction 


38  INTERRUPTED. 

eers,  and  talked  calmly  about  the  prices  of 
things,  the  thought  of  selling  which  made  her 
flesh  fairly  quiver. 

She  superintended  the  moving  of  heavy 
furniture,  and  the  packing  of  delicate  glasses 
and  vases,  after  they  had  been  chosen  from 
the  home  treasures  at  private  sale. 

She  discussed  with  possible  purchasers  the 
value  of  this  or  that  carpet,  and  calculated 
back  to  see  how  long  it  had  been  in  use, 
when  the  very  bringing  of  it  into  the  home 
had  marked  an  anniversary  which  made  her 
cheek  pale  and  her  breath  come  hard  as  she 
tried  to  speak  the  date. 

There  were  some  who  tried  to  shield  her 
from  some  of  these  bitter  experiences.  There 
were  kind  offers  of  assistance ;  made,  it  is 
true,  in  the  main,  by  those  who  were  will 
ing,  but  incompetent ;  but  Claire  was  in  the 
mood  to  decline  all  the  help  she  could.  Do 
her  best,  there  was  still  so  much  help  act 
ually  required,  that  it  made  her  blush  to 
think  of  it. 

"There  are  a  hundred  things  they  want 
to  know,"  she  would  explain  to  those  who 


OUT    IN    THE  WORLD.  39 

begged  her  not  to  tear  her  heart  and  wear 
her  strength  by  walking  through  the  rooms 
with  those  who  had  come  to  purchase,  possi 
bly,  certainly  to  see,  and  to  ask.  "  There 
are  a  hundred  things  they  want  to  know 
that  only  mamma  or  I  can  tell  them.  It  shall 
never  be  mamma,  and  I  would  rather  face 
them  and  wait  on  them  alone,  than  to  creep 
out  at  call,  like  an  ashamed  creature,  to  answer 
their  demands.  There  is  nothing  wicked  about 
it,  and  I  ought  to  be  able  to  bear  what  others 
have  had  to." 

Nevertheless,  it  was  cruel  work.  She  knew 
when  the  two  weeks  of  private  sale  were 
over,  and  she  stood  battered  and  bruised  in 
soul,  over  the  forlorn  wrecks  of  the  ruined 
home,  that  she  had  not  understood  before 
what  a  strain  it  was  to  be.  She  had  almost 
borne  it  alone.  It  was  true,  as  she  had  said, 
that  it  must  be  either  mamma  or  herself. 
Those  who  in  all  loving  tenderness  had  tried 
to  help,  realized  this  after  the  first  day.  "  I 
don't  know,  really;  I  will  ask  Miss  Bene 
dict,"  was  the  most  frequent  answer  to  the 
endless  questions.  Dora's  pitiful  attempts  to 


4O  INTERRUPTED. 

help  bear  the  burden  seemed  to  give  her 
sister  more  pain  than  anything  else.  And 
one  day,  when  to  the  persistent  questioning 
of  a  woman  in  a  cotton  velvet  sack,  about 
the  first  value  of  a  Persian  rug  of  peculiar 
pattern  and  coloring,  Dora  dropped  down  on 
a  hassock  in  a  burst  of  tears,  and  sobbed: 
"  Oh,  I  don't  know  how  much  it  cost ;  but 
I  know  papa  brought  it  when  he  came  from 
Europe  the  day  I  was  fourteen.  Oh,  papa, 
papa,  what  shall  I  do  !  "  Claire  came  from 
the  next  room,  calm,  pale,  cold  as  a  statue, 
just  a  swift  touch  of  tenderness  for  Dora  as 
she  stooped  over  her,  saying  — 

"  Run  away,  darling,  I  will  attend  to  this," 
then  she  was  ready  to  discuss  the  merits,  pos 
sible  and  probable,  of  the  Persian  rug,  or  of 
anything  else  in  the  room.  When  the  woman 
in  the  sham  velvet  bunglingly  attempted  to 
explain  that  she  did  not  mean  to  hurt  poor 
Dora's  feelings,  she  was  answered  quietly, 
even  gently,  that  no  harm  had  been  done, 
that  Dora  was  but  a  child.  When  the  woman 
was  gone,  without  the  Persian  rug  —  the  price 
having  been  too  great  for  her  purse  —  Claire 


OUT    IN   THE   WORLD.  4! 

went  swiftly  to  the  sobbing  Dora,  and  ex 
tracted  a  promise  from  her  that  she  would 
never,  no,  never,  attempt  to  enter  one  of  the 
public  rooms  again  during  those  hateful  two 
weeks,  and  she  kept  her  promise. 

The  next  thing,  now  that  the  private  sale 
had  closed,  and  Claire  could  be  off  guard, 
was  house-hunting.  Not  in  the  style  of  some 
of  her  acquaintances,  with  whom  she  had  ex 
plored  certain  handsome  rows  of  houses  "for 
rent,"  feeling  secretly  very  sorry  for  them 
that  they  had  to  submit  to  the  humiliation  of 
living  in  rented  houses  and  be  occasionally 
subject  to  the  miseries  of  moving.  Claire 
Benedict  had  never  moved  but  once,  which 
was  when  her  father  changed  from  his  hand 
some  house  on  one  avenue  to  his  far  hand 
somer  one  on  a  grander  avenue,  which  expe 
rience  was  full  of  delight  to  the  energetic 
young  girl.  Very  different  was  this  moving 
to  be.  She  was  not  looking  for  a  house ; 
she  was  not  even  looking  for  a  handsome  half 
of  a  double  house,  which  wore  the  air  of  be 
longing  to  one  family;  'nor  could  she  even 
honestly  say  she  was  looking  for  a  "flat,"  be- 


42  INTERRUPTED. 

cause  they  must,  if  possible,  get  along  with 
even  less  room  than  this.  To  so  low  an  es 
tate  had  they  fallen  in  an  hour ! 

You  do  not  want  me  to  linger  over  the 
story,  nor  try  to  give  you  any  of  the  shud 
dering  details.  The  rooms  were  found  and 
rented,  Claire  adding  another  drop  to  her 
bitter  cup  by  seeking  out  Judge  Symonds  as 
her  security.  They  were  moved  into ;  not 
until  they  had  been  carefully  cleaned  and 
brightened  to  the  best  of  the  determined 
young  girl's  ability.  Two  carpets  had  been 
saved  from  the  wreck  for  mother's  room  and 
the  general  sitting-room ;  and  a  pitiful,  not  to 
say  painful,  effort  had  been  made  to  throw 
something  like  an  air  of  elegance  around 
"mamma's  room."  She  recognized  it  the  mo 
ment  she  looked  on  it,  with  lips  that  quivered, 
but  with  a  face  that  bravely  smiled  as  she 
said:  "Daughter,  you  have  done  wonders." 
She  wanted,  instead,  to  cry  out :  "  Woe  is 
me!  What  shall  I  do?" 

This  little  mother,  used  to  sheltering  hands, 
had  been  a  constant  and  tender  lesson  to 
Claire  all  through  the  days. 


OUT    IN    THE  WORLD.  43 

She  had  not  broken  down,  and  lain  down 
and  died,  as  at  first  Claire  had  feared  she 
would ;  neither  had  she  wept  and  moaned  as 
one  who  would  not  be  comforted.  She  had 
leaned  on  Claire,  it  is  true,  but  not  in  a  way 
that  seemed  like  an  added  burden  ;  it  was 
rather  a  balm  to  the  sore  heart  to  have 
"  mamma "  gently  turn  to  her  for  a  decisive 
word,  and  depend  on  her  advice  somewhat 
as  she  had  depended  on  the  father. 

It  had  not  been  difficult  to  get  a  promise 
from  her  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
dreadful  sales.  "  No,  dear,"  she  had  said 
quietly,  when  Claire  made  her  plea,  "  I  will 
not  try  to  help  in  that  direction ;  I  know 
that  I  should  hinder  rather  than  help.  You 
can  do  it  all,  much  better  than  I.  You  are 
like  your  father,  my  child ;  he  alwa}rs  took 
the  hard  things,  so  that  I  did  not  learn 
how." 

The  very  work  with  which  the  mother 
quietly  occupied  herself  was  pathetic.  It  had 
been  their  pleasure  to  see  her  fair  hands 
busy  with  the  bright  wools,  and  silks  and 
velvets  of  fancy  work,  such  as  the  restless 


44  INTERRUPTED. 

young  schoolgirl  was  too  nervous  to  care  for, 
and  the  energetic  elder  daughter  was  too 
busy  to  find  time  for.  It  had  been  their  pride 
to  point  to  many  delicate  pieces  of  cunning 
workmanship,  and  say  they  were  "  mamma's." 

"  So  different  from  most  other  mothers," 
Dora  would  say,  fondly  and  proudly. 

-But  on  the  morning  that  the  sale  com 
menced,  the  mother  had  gone  over  all  the 
wools,  and  silks,  and  canvas,  and  packed 
them  away  with  that  unfinished  piece  of 
crimson;  and  thereafter,  her  needle,  though 
busy,  took  the  stitches  that  the  discharged 
seamstress  had  been  wont  to  take.  Claire 
found  her  one  day  patiently  darning  a  rent 
in  a  fast  breaking  tablecloth,  which  had 
been  consigned  by  the  housekeeper  to  the 
drawer  for  old  linen.  Scarcely  anything  in 
the  history  of  the  long,  weary  day  touched 
Claire  so  much  as  this. 

Such  power  have  the  little  things  to  sting 
us!  Some  way  we  make  ourselves  proof 
against  the  larger  ones. 

There  had  been  very  little  about  the  ex 
periences  of  these  trying  weeks  that  had  to 


OUT    IN   THE   WORLD.  45 

be  brought  before  the  family  for  discussion. 
They  were  spared  the  pain  of  argument. 
There  had  not  been  two  minds  about  the 
matter  for  a  moment.  Everything  must  go ; 
the  creditors  must  be  satisfied  to  the  utter 
most  farthing,  if  possible.  That,  as  a  matter 
of  course.  Never  mind  what  the  law  allowed 
them.  They  knew  nothing  about  the  law. 
cared  nothing  for  it ;  they  would  even  have 
given  up  their  keepsakes  and  their  very 
dresses,  had  there  been  need,  and  they  could 
have  found  purchasers. 

But  there  had  been  no  need.  Disastrous 
as  the  failure  had  been,  it  was  found  that 
there  was  unincumbered  property  enough  to 
pay  every  creditor  and  have  more  furniture 
left  than  they  knew  what  to  do  with,  be 
sides  a  sum  of  money  ;  so  small,  indeed, 
that  at  first  poor  Claire,  unused  to  calcula 
ting  on  such  a  small  scale,  had  curled  her 
lip  in  very  scorn,  and  thought  that  it  might 
as  well  have  gone  with  the  rest. 

There  came  a  day  when  they  were  settled 
in  those  ridiculously  small  rooms,  with  every 
corner  and  cranny  in  immaculate  order,  and 


46  INTERRUPTED. 

had  reached  the  disastrous  moment  when 
they  might  fold  their  hands  and  do  nothing. 
Alas  for  Claire !  If  there  was  one  thing 
that  she  had  always  hated,  it  was  to  do 
nothing.  She  was  almost  glad  that  it  was 
not  possible  for  her  to  do  this.  The  absurd 
little  sum  set  to  their  credit  in  the  First 
National  Bank,  of  which  her  father  had  for 
so  many  years  been  a  part,  would  barely 
suffice  to  pay  the  ridiculously  small  rent  of 
these  wretched  rooms  and  provide  her  mother 
with  food  and  clothing.  She  must  support 
herself.  She  must  do  more  than  that:  Dora 
must  be  kept  in  school.  But  how  was  all 
this  to  be  done  ? 

The  old  question !  She  had  puzzled  over 
it  a  hundred  times  for  some  poor  woman 
on  her  list.  She  thought  of  them  now  only 
with  shivers.  Executive  ability?  Dear!  yes, 
she  had  always  been  admired  for  having  it. 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  execute,  when  you 
have  but  to  put  your  hand  in  your  pocket 
for  the  money  that  is  needed  for  carrying 
out  your  designs ;  or,  if  there  chance  not  to 
be  enough  therein,  trip  lightly  up  the  great, 


OUT  IN  THE  WORLD.  47 

granite  steps  of  the  all-powerful  bank,  ask 
to  see  "papa"  a  minute,  and  come  out  re 
plenished.  It  was  quite  another  thing  when 
neither  pocket  nor  bank  had  aught  for  her, 
and  the  first  snows  of  winter  were  falling  on 
the  father's  grave. 

She  had  one  talent,  marked  and  cultivated 
to  an  unusual  degree.  She  had  thought  of 
it  several  times  with  a  little  feeling  of  assur 
ance.  Everybody  knew  that  her  musical 
education  had  been  thorough  in  the  extreme, 
and  that  her  voice  was  wonderful. 

She  had  been  told  by  her  teachers  many 
a  time  that  a  fortune  lay  locked  up  in  it. 
Now  was  the  time  for  the  fortune  to  come 
forth.  She  must  teach  music;  she  must  se 
cure  a  position  in  which  to  sing  on  a 
salary.  Claire  Benedict  of  two  months  ago 
had  been  given  to  curling  her  lip  just  a 
little  over  the  thought  that  Christian  young 
men  and  women  had  to  be  paid  for  con 
tributing  with  their  voices  to  the  worship 
of  God  on  the  Sabbath  day.  The  Claire 
Benedict  of  to-day,  with  that  great  gulf  of 
experience  between  her  and  her  yesterday, 


48  INTERRUPTED. 

said,  with  a  sob,  that  she  would  never  sneer 
again  at  any  honest  thing  which  women  did 
to  earn  their  living.  She  herself  would  be 
come  a  salaried  singer. 

Yes,  but  how  bring  it  to  pass?  Did  you 
ever  notice  how  strangely  the  avenues  for 
employment  which  have  been  just  at  your 
side  seem  to  close  when  there  is  need  ? 
More  than  once  had  representatives  of  fash 
ionable  churches  said  wistfully  to  Claire :  "  If 
we  could  only  have  your  voice  in  our 
choir ! "  Now,  a  little  exertion  on  her  part 
served  to  discover  to  her  the  surprising  fact 
that  there  were  no  vacancies  among  the 
churches  where  salaried  singers  were  in  de 
mand. 

Yes,  there  was  one,  and  they  sought  her 
out.  The  offered  salary  would  have  been  a 
small  fortune  to  her  in  her  present  need ; 
but  she  could  not  worship  in  that  church  ; 
she  would  not  sing  the  praises  of  God  merely 
for  money. 

There  was  earnest  urging,  but  she  was  firm. 
There  was  a  specious  hint  that  true  worship 
could  be  offered  anywhere,  but  Claire  replied: 


OUT    IN    THE    WORLD.  49 

"  But  your  hymns  ignore  the  doctrine  on 
which  I  rest  my  hope  for  this  life  and  for 
the  future." 

It  was  a  comfort  to  her  to  remember  that 
when  she  mentioned  the  offer  to  her  mother 
and  sister,  and  said  that  she  could  not  accept 
it,  her  mother  had  replied,  promptly :  "  Of 
course  not,  dangther."  And  even  Dora,  who 
was  at  the  questioning  age,  inclined  to  tosr 
her  head  a  little  bit  at  isms  and  creeds, 
and  hint  at  the  need  for  liberal  views  and 
a  broader  platform,  said :  "  What  an  idea !  I 
should  have  supposed  that  they  would  have 
known  better." 

But  it  was  the  only  church  that  offered. 
Neither  did  Claire  blame  them.  It  was  hon 
est  truth ;  there  was  no  opening.  A  year 
ago  —  six  months  ago  —  why,  even  two 
months  ago,  golden  opportunities  would  have 
awaited  her ;  but  just  now  every  vacancy 
was  satisfactorily  filled.  Why  should  those 
giving  satisfaction,  and  needing  the  money, 
be  discharged,  to  make  room  for  her  who 
needed  it  no  less  ?  Claire  was  no  weak, 
unreasoning  girl  who  desired  any  such  thing. 


5O  INTERRUPTED. 

As  for  two  months  ago,  at  that  time  the 
thought  of  the  possibility  of  ever  being  wil 
ling  to  fill  such  a  place  had  not  occurred 
to  her. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN  OPEN  DOOR. 

WELL,  surely  there  was  a  chance  to 
teach  music  to  private  pupils  ?  No, 
if  you  will  credit  it,  there  was  not  even  such 
a  chance !  There  was  less  reasonable  explana 
tion  for  this  closed  door  than  the  other. 
Surely,  in  the  great  city,  full  of  would-be 
musicians,  she  might  have  found  a  corner ! 
Doubtless  she  would  have  done  so  in  time, 
but  it  amazed  her  as  the  days  went  by,  and 
one  by  one  the  pupils  on  whom  she  had 
counted  with  almost  certainty  were  found  to 
have  excellent  reasons  why  they  ought  to 
remain  with  their  present  teacher,  or  why 
they  ought  not  to  take  up  music  for  the 
present. 

In    some   cases    the   dilemma    was   real   and 
the    excuse    good.       In     others    it   was    born 
5' 


52  INTERRUPTED. 

simply  of  fear.  Oh,  yes,  they  knew  that 
Miss  Benedict  was  a  brilliant  player,  there 
was  not  her  equal  in  the  city ;  and  as  for 
her  voice,  it  was  simply  supurb ;  but  then 
it  did  not  follow  that  a  fine  musician  was 
a  fine  teacher.  She  had  not  been  educated 
for  a  teacher ;  that  had  been  the  farthest 
removed  from  her  intention  until  necessity 
forced  it  upon  her.  It  stood  to  reason  that 
a  girl  who  had  been  brought  up  in  luxury, 
and  had  cultivated  her  musical  talent  as  a 
passion,  merely  for  her  own  pleasure,  should 
know  nothing  about  the  principles  of  teach 
ing,  and  have  little  patience  with  the  drudg 
ery  of  it.  They  had  always  been  warned 
against  broken-down  ladies  as  teachers  of 
anything. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  this  feeling; 
and  Glaire,  as  she  began  to  realize  it  more, 
WHS  kept  from  bitterness  because  of  the 
honesty  of  her  nature.  She  could  see  that 
there  was  truth  in  these  conclusions;  and 
while  she  knew  that  she  could  give  their 
children  such  teaching  as  the  parents  might 
have  been  glad  to  get,  at  any  price,  she 


AN   OPEN   DOOR.  53 

admitted  that  they  could  not  know  this  as 
she  did,  and  were  not  to  blame  for  cau 
tion. 

She  was  kept  from  bitterness  by  one 
other  experience. 

There  came  to  see  her  one  evening,  a 
woman  who  had  done  plain  sewing  for  her 
in  the  days  gone  by;  whom  she  had  paid 
liberally  and  for  whom  she  had  inter 
ested  herself  to  secure  better  paid  labor 
than  she  had  found  her  doing.  This  woman, 
with  a  certain  confused  air,  as  of  one  asking 
a  favor,  had  come  to  say  that  she  would 
take  it  as  a  great  thing,  if  her  Fanny  could 
get  into  Miss  Benedict's  music  class. 

Miss  Benedict  explained  kindly  that  she 
had  no  music  class,  but  if  she  should  form 
one  in  the  city,  it  would  give  her  pleasure 
to  count  Fanny  as  one  of  her  pupils,  and 
the  mother  could  pay  for  it,  if  she  wished, 
in  doing  a  little  sewing  for  them  some 
time,  when  they  should  have  sewing  again 
to  do.  The  sentence  ended  with  a  sigh. 
But  the  caller's  embarrassment  increased.  She 
even  forgot  to  thank  the  lady  for  her  gra- 


54  INTERRUPTED. 

cious  intention,  and  looked  down  at  her 
somewhat  faded  shawl,  and  twisted  the 
fringe  of  it,  and  blushed,  and  tried  to  stammer 
out  something.  Claire  began  to  suspect  that 
this  was  but  a  small  part  of  her  errand,  and 
to  be  roused  to  sympathy.  Was  there  any 
thing  else  she  could  do  for  her  in  any  way, 
she  questioned. 

No !  oh,  no !  there  was  nothing,  only 
would  she  —  would  it  not  be  possible  to 
start  a  class  with  her  Fanny,  and  let  her 
pay,  not  in  sewing,  but  in  money,  and  the 
full  value  of  the  lessons,  too  ;  and  here  the 
woman  stopped  twisting  the  fringe  of  her 
shawl,  and  looked  up  with  womanly  dignity. 
She  was  doing  better,  she  said ;  a  great 
deal  better  than  when  Miss  Benedict  first 
sought  her  out.  Thanks  to  her,  she  had 
plenty  of  sewing,  as  much  as  she  could  do, 
and  of  a  good,  paying  kind ;  and  she  had 
thought — and  here  the  shawl  fringe  was 
twisted  again  —  that  is,  she  had  supposed  or 
imagined  —  well,  the  long  and  short  of  it 
was,  sometimes  all  that  things  wanted  was  a 
beginning,  and  she  thought  maybe  if  Miss 


AN    OPEN    DOOR.  55 

Benedict  could  be  so  kind  as  to  begin  with 
Fanny,  others  would  come  in,  and  a  good 
class  get  started  before  she  knew  it. 

There  was  a  suspicious  quiver  of  Claire's 
chin  as  she  listened  to  this,  but  her  voice 
was  clear  and  very  gentle  as  she  spoke : 

"Tell  me  frankly,  Mrs.  Jones,  do  you 
think  Fanny  has  a  decided  talent  for  music, 
which  ought  to  be  cultivated  ?  I  don't 
know  the  child,  I  think.  Is  she  a  singer?" 

Then  Mrs.  Jones,  all  unused  to  subter 
fuge,  and  at  home  in  the  realm  of  frank 
ness,  was  betrayed  at  once  into  admitting 
that  she  had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing 
as  Fanny  taking  music  lessons.  No,  she  didn't 
sing :  at  least,  not  but  very  little,  and  she 
never  said  much  about  music ;  what  she 
wanted  was  to  learn  to  draw,  but  she,  Mrs. 
Jones,  had  thought,  as  she  said  —  and  maybe 
it  was  presumption  in  her  to  think  so  — 
that  what  most  things  needed  was  to  get 
started.  No  sooner  did  she  get  started  in 
another  kind  of  sewing,  and  among  another 
kind  of  customers,  than  work  poured  in  on 
her  faster  than  she  could  do,  and  she 


56  INTERRUPTED. 

thought  Fanny  would  do  maybe  to  start  on. 
Long  before  the  conclusion  of  this  sentence 
the  shawl  fringe  was  suffering  again. 

Claire  rose  from  her  seat,  and  went  over 
and  stood  before  Mrs.  Jones,  her  voice  still 
clear  and  controlled : 

"I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Jones,  for  your  kind 
thought.  So  far  from  being  presumptuous, 
it  was  worthy  of  your  warm  heart  and  un 
selfish  nature.  I  shall  not  forget  it,  and  it 
has  done  me  good.  But  if  I  were  you,  I 
would  not  have  Fanny  take  music  lessons, 
and  I  would,  if  I  could,  give  her  drawing 
lessons.  I  remember,  now,  your  telling  me 
that  she  was  always  marking  up  her  books 
with  little  bits  of  pictures.  She  probably 
has  a  good  deal  of  talent  in  this  direction, 
and  not  for  music ;  I  would  cultivate  her 
talents  in  the  line  in  which  they  lie.  Miss 
Parkhurst  has  a  drawing-class  just  commenc 
ing.  She  is  not  very  far  from  your  corner, 
on  Clark  street.  I  hope  Fanny  can  go  to 
her,  and  if  it  would  be  any  convenience  to 
you  to  pay  the  bills  in  sewing,  I  am  quite 
certain  that  Miss  Parkhurst  would  be  glad 


AN    OPEN    DOOR. 


57 


to  do  it.  She  was  speaking  about  some 
work  of  the  kind  only  yesterday,  and  I  rec 
ommended  you  to  her  as  one  whom  she 
could  trust." 

So  they  dropped  once  more  into  their 
natural  characters,  Claire  the  suggester  and 
helper,  and  Mrs.  Jones  the  grateful  recipi 
ent.  She  went  away  thanked  and  comforted, 

and   convinced    that   Fanny   ought   to   have   a 

/ 
chance     at     drawing,     since     Miss     Benedict 

thought   she  had   a   talent. 

As  for  Claire,  she  went  back  to  her  mother 
with  two  bright  spots  glowing  on  her  cheeks, 
and  knelt  down  beside  her  chair,  and  said : 

"  Mamma,  I  have  just  had  the  most  deli 
cate  little  bit  of  thoughtfulness  shown  me 
that  I  ever  received  from  the  world  outside, 
and  I'll  tell  }TOU  one  thing  it  has  settled;  I 
mean  to  accept  the  first  opening,  from  what 
ever  source,  that  will  take  me  away  from 
the  city.  I  am  almost  sure  there  is  no 
work  for  me  in  this  city." 

Yet  you  are  not  to  suppose  that  the  great 
world  of  friends  who  had  been  glad  of  their 
recognition  forgot  them  or  ignored  them. 


58  INTERRUPTED. 

Much  less  are  you  to  suppose  that  the  great 
church — of  which  Mr.  Benedict  was  such  a 
prominent  part  that  the  projected  entertain 
ment  for  which  the  young  people  had  been 
so  nearly  ready,  missionary  though  it  was, 
was  indefinitely  postponed  when  he  died  — 
forgot  them  or  grew  cold.  Whatever  the 
world  may  do,  or  whatever  solitary  individ 
uals  in  the  church  may  do  under  financial 
ruins,  the  great  heart  of  the  true  church 
heats  away  for  its  own.  And  bravely  they 
rallied  around  the  widow,  and  heartily  they 
tried  to  be  helpful,  and  were  helpful,  indeed, 
so  far  as  warm  words  and  earnest  efforts 
were  concerned. 

But  they  could  not  make  vacancies  for 
Claire  in  the  line  in  which  her  talents  fitted 
her  to  work.  They  could  not  make  a  strong 
woman  of  the  mother,  able  to  shoulder  bur 
dens  such  as  are  always  waiting  for  strong 
shoulders.  They  could  and  would  have  sup 
ported  them.  For  a  time,  at  least,  tlu; 
would  have  been  done  joyfully ;  they  longed 
to  do  it.  They  offered  help  in  all  possible 
delicate  ways.  The  trouble  was,  this  family 


AN  OPEN  DOOR.  59 

would  have  none  of  it.  Grateful?  —  oh,  yes, 
but  persistent  in  gently  declining  that  which 
was  not  an  absolute  necessity. 

In  the  very  nature  of  things,  as  the  days 
passed,  they  would  be  in  a  sense  forgotten. 
Claire  saw  this,  and  the  mother  saw  it. 
The  rooms  they  had  taken  were  very  far 
removed  from  the  old  church  and  the  old 
home  and  the  old  circle  of  friends.  It  con 
sumed  hours  of  the  day  to  make  the  jour 
ney  back  and  forth.  Of  course,  it  could 
not  be  made  often,  nor  by  many.  Of  course, 
the  gaps  which  their  changes  had  made 
would  be  filled  in  time ;  it  was  not  reason 
able  to  expect  otherwise.  Nobody  expected 
it,  but  it  was  very  bitter. 

And  the  very  first  open  door  that  Claire 
saw  was  an  opportunity  to  teach  music  in  a 
little  unpretentious  academy,  in  a  little  un 
pretentious  town,  away  back  among  the  hills, 
two  hundred  miles  from  the  city  that  had 
always  been  her  home. 

It  took  talking  —  much  of  it  —  to  reconcile 
the  mother  and  sister  to  the  thought  of  a 
separation.  Through  all  their  changes  this 


60  INTERRUPTED. 

one  had  not  been  suggested  to  their  minds. 
They  had  expected,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
to  keep  together.  But  necessity  is  a  won 
derful  logician.  The  bank  account  was  alarm 
ingly  small,  and  growing  daily  smaller.  Even 
the  unpractical  mother  and  sister  could  see 
this.  Something  must  be  done,  and  here  was 
the  open  door.  Why  not  enter  it  at  once, 
instead  of  waiting  in  idleness  and  suspense 
through  the  winter  for  something  better? 
Thus  argued  Claire:  "It  will  not  be  very 
easy  to  leave  you,  mamma,  as  you  may  well 
imagine,"  and  here  the  sensitive  chin  would 
quiver,  "but  I  should  feel  safe  in  doing  so, 
for  these  ugly  rooms  are  really  very  con 
veniently  arranged,  and  Dora  would  learn  to 
look  after  everything  that  Molly  could  not 
do  by  giving  two  days  of  work  in  a  week. 
I  have  made  positive  arrangements  with  her 
for  two  days,  and  she  depends  upon  it ;  you 
must  not  disappoint  her.  And,  mamma,  I 
have  thought  of  what  papa  said  about  us," 
here  the  low  voice  took  on  a  tone  of  pecu 
liar  tenderness,  "perhaps  Dora  will  learn  self- 
reliance  if  she  is  left  to  shield  and  care  for 


AN    OPEN    DOOR.  6l 

you ;  it  will  be  a  powerful  motive.  You 
know  she  leans  on  me  now,  naturally." 

This  was  Claire's  strongest  argument,  and, 
together  with  the  argument  of  necessity, 
prevailed. 

Barely  four  weeks  from  the  "  to-morrow " 
which  had  contained  her  last  bright  plans,  she 
was  installed  as  music  teacher  in  the  plain 
little  academy  building  situated  in  South  Plains. 

And  now  I  know  that  I  need  not  even 
attempt  to  describe  the  sinking  of  heart 
with  which  she  moved  down  the  shabby 
narrow  aisle,  and  seated  herself  in  the  un- 
cushioned  pew  of  the  shabby  little  church  on 
that  first  Sabbath  morning. 

Uncushioned !  that  was  by  no  means  the 
worst  of  the  pew's  failings.  The  back  was 
at  least  four  inches  lower  than  it  ought  to 
have  been,  even  for  so  slight  a  form  as 
Claire's,  and  was  finished  with  a  moulding 
that  projected  enough  to  form  a  decided 
ridge.  Of  course,  for  purpose  of  support, 
the  thing  was  a  failure,  and,  as  to  appear 
ance,  nothing  more  awkward  in  the  line  of 
sittings  could  be  imagined. 


62  INTERRUPTED. 

Fairly  seated  in  this  comfortless  spot,  the 
homesick  girl  looked  about  her  to  take  in 
her  dreary  surroundings.  Bare  floors,  not 
over  clean,  the  most  offensive  looking  faded 
red  curtains  flapping  disconsolately  against 
the  old-fashioned,  small-paned  soiled  windows ; 
a  platform,  whose  attempts  at  carpeting  rep 
resented  a  large-patterned,  soiled  ingrain  rag, 
whose  colors,  once  much  too  bright  for  the 
place,  had  faded  into  disreputable  ghosts  of 
their  former  selves.  The  whole  effect  seemed 
to  Claire  by  far  more  dreary  than  the  bare 
floor  of  the  aisles.  A  plain,  square,  four- 
legged  table,  that  had  not  even  been  dusted 
lately,  did  duty  as  a  pulpit  desk,  and  a 
plain,  wooden-backed,  wooden-seated  chair 
stood  behind  it.  These  were  the  sole  at 
tempts  at  furnishing.  The  walls  of  this  des 
olate  sanctuary  seemed  begrimed  with  the 
smoke  of  ages;  they  were  festooned  with 
cobwebs,  these  furnishing  the  only  attempts 
at  hiding  the  unsightly  cracks.  The  few 
dreary-looking  kerosene  lamps  disposed  about 
the  room  gave  the  same  evidence  of  neglect 
in  their  sadly  smoked  chimneys  and  general 


AN   OPEN   DOOR.  63 

air  of  discouragement.  However,  had  Claire 
but  known  it,  she  had  cause  for  gratitude 
over  the  fact  that  they  were  not  lighted,  for 
they  could  prove  their  unfitness  for  the 
place  they  occupied  in  a  much  more  offen 
sive  way. 

Such,  then,  in  brief,  was  the  scene  that 
greeted  her  sad  eyes  that  morning.  How 
utterly  homesick  and  disheartened  she  was!" 
It  was  all  so  different  from  the  surround 
ings  to  which  she  had  all  her  life  been 
accustomed !  She  closed  her  eyes  to  hide  the 
rush  of  tears,  and  to  think,  foolish  girl  that 
she  was,  of  that  other  church  miles  and 
miles  away.  She  could  seem  to  see  familiar 
forms  gliding  at  this  moment  down  the 
aisles,  whose  rich  carpets  gave  back  no  sound 
of  footfall.  How  soft  and  clear  the  colors 
of  that  carpet  were !  A  suggestion  of  the 
delicately  carpeted  woods,  and  the  shimmer 
of  sunlight  on  a  summer  day  toward  the 
sun  setting.  She  had  helped  to  select  that 
carpet  herself,  and  she  knew  that  she  had 
an  artist's  eye  for  colors  and  for  harmony. 
It  was  not  an  extravagantly  elegant  church 


64  INTERRUPTED. 

—  as  city  churches  rank — that  one  to  which 
her  heart  went  back,  but  just  one  of  those 
exquisitely  finished  buildings  where  every  bit 
of  color  and  carving  and  design  which  meet 
the  cultured  eye,  rests  and  satisfies.  Where 
the  law  of  harmony  touches  the  delicately 
frescoed  ceiling,  reaches  down  to  the  luxuri 
ously  upholstered  pews,  finds  its  home  in  the 
trailing  vines  of  the  carpet,  and  breathes 
out  in  the  roll  of  the  deep-toned  organ. 

It  was  in  such  a  church,  down  such  a 
broad  and  friendly  aisle,  that  Claire  Ben 
edict  had  been  wont  to  follow  her  father  and 
mother  on  Sabbath  mornings,  keeping  step 
to  the  melody  which  seemed  to  steal  of 
itself  from  the  organ,  and  fill  the  k>fty 
room.  Can  you  imagine  something  cnf  the 
contrast  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 

TRYING  TO  ENDURE. 

OF  course  there  were  other  contrasts  than 
those  suggested  by  the  two  churches 
which  persisted  in  presenting  themselves  to 
this  lonely  girl. 

How  could  she  help  remembering  that  in 
the  old  home  she  had  been  Sidney  Benedict's 
daughter?  A  fact  which  of  itself  gave  her 
place  and  power  in  all  the  doings  of  the  sanct 
uary.  Alas  for  the  changes  that  a  few  brief 
months  can  make  ! 

Sidney  Benedict  lying  in  his  grave,  and 
his  daughter  an  obscure  music-teacher  in  an 
obscure  boarding  and  day  school;  an  object  to 
be  stared  at,  and  pointed  out  by  the  villagers 
as  the  new  teacher. 

But  for  another  contrast,  which  from  some 
divine  source  stole  over  her  just  then,  the 
6s 


66  INTERRUPTED. 

hot  tears  which  burned  her  eyes  would  surely 
have  fallen.  Sidney  Benedict  was  not  sleep 
ing  in  the  grave ;  that  was  only  the  house 
of  clay  in  which  he  had  lived.  She  knew, 
and  suddenly  remembered  it  with  a  thrill, 
that  his  freed  soul  was  in  Heaven.  What 
did  that  mean?  she  wondered.  In  vain  her 
imagination  tried  to  paint  the  contrast.  There 
had  been  times  since  his  going  when  she 
had  longed  with  all  the  passion  of  her  in 
tense  nature  to  know  by  actual  experience 
just  what  Heaven  is.  But  these  were  cowardly 
moments.  Generally,  she  had  been  able  to 
feel  thankful  that  she  was  here  to  help  mamma 
and  Dora.  She  remembered  this  now,  along 
with  the  memory  of  her  father's  joy,  and  it 
helped  her  to  choke  back  the  tears,  and 
struggle  bravely  with  her  homesickness. 

Meantime,  it  was  hard  for  her  to  forget  that 
she  was  the  observed  of  all  observers.  But 
.she  did  not  half  understand  why  this  was 
so.  She  could  not  know  what  a  rare  bit  of 
beauty  she  looked  in  the  dingy  church ;  almost 
like  a  ray  of  brightness  astray  from  another 
world. 


TRYING    TO    ENDURE.  6/ 

From  her  standpoint,  her  dress  was  sim 
plicity  itself;  and  she  had  not  lived  long 
enough  in  this  outer  circle  of  society  to  un 
derstand  that  there  are  different  degrees  of 
simplicity,  as  well  as  different  opinions  con 
cerning  the  meaning  of  the  word. 

Her  black  silk  dress  was  very  plainly  made, 
and  her  seal  sacque  had  been  so  long  worn, 
that  Claire,  the  millionnaire's  daughter,  had 
remarked  only  last  winter  that  it  had  served 
its  time  and  must  be  supplanted  by  a  new 
one ;  the  present  Claire,  of  course,  did  not 
think  of  such  a  thing,  but  meekly  accepted 
it  as  part  of  her  cross ! 

Her  plain  black  velvet  hat  had  no  other  trim 
ming  than  the  long  plume  which  swept  all 
around  it,  and  had  been  worn  the  winter  be 
fore.  How  could  she  be  expected  to  have  any 
conception  of  the  effect  of  her  toilet  on  the 
country  people  by  whom  she  was  surrounded. 
Her  world  had  been  so  far  removed  from 
theirs,  that  had  one  told  her  that  to  them 
she  seemed  dressed  like  a  princess,  she  would 
have  been  bewildered  and  incredulous. 

Her   dress   was   very   far   from    suiting  her- 


68  INTERRUPTED. 

self.  Her  mood  had  been  to  envelop  herself 
in  heaviest  black,  and  shroud  her  face  from 
curious  gaze  behind  folds  of  crape.  The  only 
reason  she  had  not  done  so,  had  been  be 
cause  the  strict  sense  of  honor  which  gov 
erned  the  fallen  family  would  not  allow  them 
to  add  thus  heavily  to  their  expenses.  In 
deed,  to  have  dressed  in  such  mourning  as 
would  have  alone  appeared  suitable  to  them, 
would  have  been  impossible.  The  mother  had 
not  seemed  to  feel  this  much.  "  It  doesn't  mat 
ter,  children,"  she  had  said  gently ;  "  they 
know  we  miss  papa  ;  we  have  no  need  of  crape 
to  help  us  tell  that  story,  and  for  ourselves 
it  would  not  make  our  sorrow  any  less  heavy." 
But  the  girls  had  shrunk  painfully  from  curi 
ous  eyes  and  conjectured  curious  remarks,  and 
had  shed  tears  in  secret  over  even  this  phase 
of  the  trouble. 

The  bell  whose  sharp  clang  was  a  continued 
trial  to  her  cultured  ears,  ceased  its  twang 
ing  at  last,  and  then  it  was  the  wheezy  little 
cabinet  organ's  turn;  and,  indeed,  those  who 
do  not  know  the  capabilities  for  torture  that 
some  of  those  instruments  have,  are  fortu- 


TRYING   TO    ENDURE.  69 

nate.  Claire  Benedict  set  her  teeth  firmly. 
This  was  an  hundred  degrees  more  painful 
than  the  bell,  for  the  name  of  this  was 
music.  How  could  any  person  be  so  depraved 
in  taste  as  to  believe  it  other  than  a  mis 
nomer  1 

While  the  choir  of  seven  voices  roared 
through  the  hymn,  Claire  shut  her  eyes, 
grasped  her  hymn-book  tightly  with  both 
hands,  set  her  lips,  and  endured.  What  a 
tremendous  bass  it  was !  How  fearfully  the 
leading  soprano  "  sang  through  her  nose," 
in  common  parlance,  though  almost  every 
body  understands  that  we  mean  precisely 
opposite  !  How  horribly  the  tenor  flatted, 
and  how  entirely  did  the  alto  lose  the  key 
more  than  once  during  the  infliction  of  those 
six  verses ! 

The  hymn  was  an  old  one,  a  favorite  with 
Claire,  as  it  had  been  with  her  father ;  but 
as  that  choir  shrieked  out  the  familiar 
words  — 

I  love  her  gates,  I  love  the  road, 
The  church  adorned  with  grace, 

Stands  like  a  palace  built  for  God, 
To  show  his  milder  face, 


fO  INTERRUPfEb. 

it  seemed  hardly  possible  for  one  reared  as 
she  had  been,  to  turn  from  her  surroundings 
and  lose  herself  in  the  deep  spiritual  mean 
ing  intended.  Nay,  when  the  line, 

Stands  like  a  palace  built  for  God, 

was  triumphantly  hurled  at  her  through 
those  discordant  voices,  she  could  hardly 
keep  her  sad  lips  from  curling  into  a  sar 
castic  smile,  as  she  thought  of  the  cracked 
and  smoky  walls,  the  dreadful  curtains,  the 
dust  and  disorder. 

"A  palace  built  for  God ! "  her  heart  said 
in  disdain,  almost  in  disgust.  "  It  isn't  a 
decent  stopping-place  for  a  respectable  man." 

Then  her  momentary  inclination  to  smile 
yielded  to  genuine  indignation.  What  pos 
sible  excuse  could  be  offered  for  such  a 
state  of  things?  Why  did  respectable  peo 
ple  permit  such  a  disgrace?  She  had  seen 
at  least  the  outside  of  several  of  the  homes 
in  South  Plains,  and  nothing  like  the  dis 
order  and  desolation  which  reigned  here, 
was  permitted  about  those  homes.  How  could 
Christian  people  think  they  were  honoring 


TRYING   TO   ENDURE.  /I 

God  by  meeting  for  his  worship  in  a  place 
that  would  have  made  the  worst  house 
keeper  among  them  blush  for  shame  had  it 
been  her  own  home. 

Indignation  helped  her  through  the  hymn, 
and  with  bowed  head  and  throbbing  heart, 
she  tried,  during  the  prayer,  to  come  into 
accord  with  the  spirit  of  worship. 

But  the  whole  service  was  one  to  be  re 
membered  as  connected  with  a  weary  and 
nearly  fruitless  struggle  with  wayward  thoughts. 
What  was  the  burden  of  the  sermon  ?  She 
tried  in  vain  afterwards  to  recall  it. 

A  series  of  well-meant  and  poorly  expressed 
platitudes.  "Nothing  wrong  about  it,"  thought 
poor  Claire,  "except  the  sin  of  calling  it 
the  gospel,  and  reading  it  off  to  these  sleepy 
people  as  though  he  really  thought  it  might 
do  them  some  good!" 

Indeed,  the  minister  was  almost  sleepy  him 
self,  or  else  utterly  discouraged.  Claire  tried 
to  rouse  herself  to  a  little  interest  in  him, 
to  wonder  whether  he  were  a  down-hearted, 
disappointed  man.  His  coat  was  seedy,  his 
collar  limp  and  his  cuffs  frayed  at  the  edges. 


^2  INTERRUPTED. 

Yes,  these  were  actually  some  of  the  things 
she  thought  while  he  said  his  sermon  over 
to  them  ! 

She  brought  her  thoughts  with  sharp  repri 
mand  back  to  the  work  of  the  hour,  but 
they  roved  again  almost  as  quickly  as  re 
called.  At  last  she  gave  over  the  struggle, 
and  set  herself  to  the  dangerous  work  of 
wondering  what  Doctor  Ellis  was  saying  this 
morning  in  the  dear  old  pulpit  ;  whether 
mamma  and  Dora  missed  him  as  much  as 
she  did ;  whether  he  looked  over  occasion 
ally  to  their  vacant  seat  and  missed  all  the 
absent  ones,  papa  most  of  all.  But  the  seat 
was  not  vacant,  probably ;  already  somebody 
sat  at  the  head  of  the  pew  in  papa's  place, 
and  somebody's  daughters,  or  sisters,  or 
friends,  had  her  place,  and  mamma's  and 
Dora's.  The  niches  were  filled,  doubtless,  and 
the  work  of  the  church  was  going  on  just 
the  same,  and  it  was  only  the}'  who  were 
left  out  in  the  cold,  their  hearts  bleeding 
over  a  gap  that  would  never  be  filled. 
Dangerous  thoughts,  these ! 

One    little   strain   in  another    key   came   in 


TRYING    TO    ENDURE.  73 

again  to  help  her :  Papa  was  not  left  out; 
he  had  gone  up  higher.  What  was  the  old 
church  to  him  now  that  he  had  entered  into 
the  church  triumphant?  He  might  love  it 
still,  but  there  must  be  a  little  pity  mingled 
with  the  love,  and  a  wistful  looking  forward 
to  the  time  when  they  would  all  reach  to 
his  height,  and  at  that  time,  mamma  and 
Dora  and  she  would  not  be  left  oat. 

If  this  mood  had  but  lasted,  it  would 
have  been  well;  but  her  undisciplined  heart 
was  too  much  for  her,  and  constantly  she 
wandered  back  to  the  thoughts  which  made 
the  sense  of  desolation  roll  over  her. 

She  was  glad  when  at  last  the  dreary 
service  was  concluded,  and  she  could  rush 
away  from  the  dreary  church  to  the  privacy 
of  her  small,  plain  room  in  the  academy, 
and  throw  herself  on  the  bed,  and  indulge 
to  the  utmost  the  passionate  burst  of  sorrow. 

The  tears  spent  their  first  force  soon,  but 
they  left  their  victim  almost  sullen.  She 
allowed  herself  to  go  over,  in  imagination, 
the  Sundays  which  were  to  come,  and  pic 
tured  all  their  unutterable  dreariness. 


74  INTERRUPTED. 

Did  I  tell  you  about  the  rusty  stoves, 
whose  rusty  and  cobwebby  pipes  seemed  to 
wander  at  their  own  erratic  will  about  that 
church?  It  was  curious  how  poor  Claire's 
excited  brain  fastened  upon  those  stovepipes 
as  the  drop  too  much  in  her  accumulation 
of  horrors.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  could 
not  endure  to  sit  under  them,  no,  not  for 
another  Sabbath;  and  here  was  a  long  win 
ter  and  spring  stretching  out  before  her! 
She  was  not  even  to  go  home  for  the  spring 
vacation ;  her  poor,  ruined  purse  would  not 
admit  of  any  such  extravagance.  It  would 
be  almost  midsummer  before  she  could  hope 
to  see  mamma  and  Dora  again.  And  in  the 
meantime,  how  many  Sundays  there  were ! 
She  vexed  herself  trying  to  make  out  the 
exact  number  and  their  exact  dates. 

This  mood,  miserable  as  it  was,  possessed 
her  all  the  afternoon.  It  seemed  not  possi 
ble  to  get  away  from  it.  She  crept  for 
lornly  from  her  bed  presently,  because  of 
the  necessity  of  seeing  to  her  expiring  fire. 
She  was  shivering  with  the  cold  ;  but  as  she 
struggled  with  the  damp  wood,  trying  to 


TRYING  to  ENDURE.  ?5 

blow  the  perverse  smoke  into  a  flame,  she 
went  on  \vith  her  indignant,  not  to  say  de 
fiant  thoughts.  She  went  back  again  to 
that  dreadful  church,  and  the  fires  in  those 
neglected  stoves. 

She  determined  resolutely  that  her  hours 
spent  in  that  building  should  be  as  few  as 
possible.  Of  course,  she  must  attend  the 
morning  service ;  but  nothing  could  induce 
her  to  spend  her  evenings  there. 

"I  might  much  better  sit  in  my  room 
and  read  my  Bible,  and  write  good  Sunday 
letters  to  mamma  and  Dora,"  she  told  her 
self,  grimly,  as  the  spiteful  smoke  suddenly 
changed  its  course  and  puffed  in  her  face. 
"At  least,  I  shall  not  go  to  church.  I 
don't  belong  to  that  church,  I  am  thankful 
to  remember,  and  never  shall ;  I  have  no 
special  duties  toward  it;  I  shall  just  keep 
away  from  it  and  from  contact  with  the 
people  here,  as  much  as  possible.  It  is 
enough  for  me  if  I  do  my  duty  toward 
those  giggling  girls  who  think  they  are  to 
become  musicians  under  my  tuition.  I  will 
do  my  best  for  them,  and  I  shall  certainly 


76  INTERRUPTED. 

earn  all  the  salar}T  I  am  offered  here;  then 
my  work  in  this  place  will  be  accomplished. 
I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  horrors  of 
that  church.  If  the  people  choose  to  insult 
God  by  worshiping  him  in  such  an  abomin 
ation  of  desolations  as  that,  it  is  nothing  to 
me.  I  must  just  endure  so  much  of  it  ;is 
I  am  obliged  to,  until  I  can  get  away  fixm 
here.  I  am  not  to  spend  my  life  in  South 
Plains,  I  should  hope." 

She  shuddered  over  the  possibility  of  this. 
She  did  not  understand  her  present  state  of 
mind.  She  seemed  to  herself  not  Claire 
Benedict  at  all,  but  a  miserable  caricature 
of  her.  What  had  become  of  the  strong, 
bright,  willing  spirit  with  which  she  had 
been  wont  to  take  hold  of  life  ?  Energetic 
she  had  always  been  called ;  "  self-reliant," 
she  had  heard  that  word  applied  to  herself 
almost  from  childhood.  "A  girl  who  had  a 
great  deal  of  executive  talent."  Yes,  she 
used  to  have  ;  but  she  seemed  now  to  have 
no  talent  of  any  sort.  She  felt  crushed ;  as 
though  the  motive  power  had  been  removed 
from  her. 


TRYING     TO    ENDURE.  77 

She  had  borne  up  bravely  while  with  her 
mother  and  younger  sister.  She  had  felt 
the  necessity  for  doing  so ;  her  mother's 
last  earthly  prop  must  not  fail  her,  and 
therefore  Claire  had  done  her  best.  But 
now  there  was  no  more  need  for  endurance. 
Her  tears  could  not  pain  mamma  or  Dora ; 
she  had  a  right  to  give  her  grief  full  sway. 
She  felt  responsible  to  nobody.  Her  work 
in  the  world  was  done.  Not  by  any  inten 
tion  of  hers,  she  told  herself  drearily;  she 
had  been  willing  and  glad  to  work;  she 
had  rejoiced  in  it,  and  had  planned  for  a 
vigorous  and  aggressive  future,  having  to  do 
with  the  best  interests  of  the  church.  Only 
think  how  full  of  work  her  hours  had  been, 
that  day  when  the  clouds  shut  down  on 
her  and  set  her  aside !  There  was  nothing 
more  for  her  to  do.  Her  plans  were  shat 
tered,  her  opportunities  swept  away,  every 
thing  had  been  cruelly  interrupted ;  she  could 
not  help  it,  and  she  knew  no  reason  for 
it;  certainly  she  had  tried  to  do  her  best. 
But,  at  least,  with  her  opportunities  closed, 
her  responsibility  was  gone;  nothing  more 


78  INTERRUPTED. 

could    be    expected    of    her;     henceforth    she 
must  just   endure. 

This  is  just  the  way  life  looked  to  the 
poor  girl  on  this  sad  Sabbath.  She  was  still 
trying  to  rely  on  herself;  and  because  her 
self  was  found  to  be  such  a  miserable 
source  of  reliance,  she  gloomily  blamed  her 
hard  fate,  and  said  that  at  least  her  re 
sponsibility  was  over.  She  did  not  say  in 
words  — "  God  has  taken  away  all  my 
chances,  and  he  must  just  be  willing  to  bear 
the  consequences  of  my  enforced  idleness;" 
she  would  have  been  shocked  had  she  sup 
posed  that  such  thoughts  were  being  nursed 
in  her  heart ;  but  when  you  look  the  mat 
ter  over,  what  else  was  she  saying?  A 
great  many  of  our  half-formed  thoughts  on 
which  we  brood,  will  not  be;ir  the  clear 
gaze  of  a  quiet  hour  when  we  mean  hon 
est  work. 


CHAPTER  VL 

LIFTED    UP. 

IT  was  a  very  quiet,  cold-faced  girl  who 
presently  obeyed  the  summons  to  din 
ner.  Had  it  not  been  for  those  suspiciously 
red  eyes,  and  a  certain  pitiful  droop  of  the 
eyelids,  Mrs.  Foster  would  hardly  have  ven 
tured  to  break  the  casing  of  haughty  re 
serve  in  which  her  young  music  teacher  had 
decided  to  wrap  herself. 

A  rare  woman  was  Mrs.  Foster.  I  wish 
you  knew  her  well ;  my  pen  pauses  over 
an  attempt  to  describe  her.  I  believe  de 
scriptions  of  people  never  read  as  the  writer 
intended  they  should;  and  there  never  was 
a  woman  harder  to  put  on  paper  than  this 
same  Mrs.  Foster. 

Ostensibly  she  was  the  principal  of  this 
little  academy,  which  was  at  present  en- 
79 


8O  INTERRUPTED. 

gaged  in  reaping  the  results  of  years  of 
mismanagement  and  third-rate  work.  People 
shook  their  heads  when  she  took  the  posi 
tion,  and  said  that  she  was  foolish.  She 
would  never  earn  her  living  there  in  the 
world;  the  academy  at  South  Plains  was 
too  much  run  down  ever  to  revive,  and 
there  never  .  had  been  a  decent  school  there 
anyway,  and  they  didn't  believe  there  ever 
would  be.  And,  of  course,  people  of  this 
mind  did  what  they  could,  with  their  tongues 
and  their  apathy,  so  far  as  money  and  pu 
pils  were  concerned,  to  prove  the  truth  of 
their  prophecies. 

But  Mrs.  Foster,  wise,  sweet,  patient  wo 
man  that  she  was,  quietly  bided  her  time, 
and  worked  her  way  through  seemingly  end 
less  discouragements.  She  was  after  much 
more  than  bread  and  butter.  In  reality 
there  was  never  a  more  persistent  and  pa 
tient  and  wise  and  wary  fisher  for  souls 
found  among  quiet  and  little  known  human 
kind  than  was  Mrs.  Foster.  Had  they  but 
known  it,  there  were  communities  which 
could  have  afforded  to  support  her  for  the 


LIFTED    UP.  8l 

sake  of  the  power  she  would  have  been  in 
their  midst.  Nay,  there  were  fathers  who 
could  have  afforded  to  make  her  independent 
for  life,  so  far  as  the  needs  of  this  world 
were  concerned,  for  the  sake  of  the  influence 
she  would  have  exerted  over  their  young 
and  tempted  sons  and  daughters.  But  they 
did  not  know  it,  and  she,  being  as  humble 
as  she  was  earnest,  did  not  half  know  it 
herself,  and  expected  nothing  of  anybody 
but  a  fair  chance  to  earn  her  living,  and 
do  all  the  good  she  could. 

In  point  of  fact,  she  had  some  difficulty 
in  getting  hold  of  the  little,  badly-used  acad 
emy  at  South  Plains.  The  people  who 
thought  she  was  utterly  foolish  for  attempt 
ing  anything  so  hopeless,  were  supplemented 
by  the  people  who  thought  she  could  not 
be  much,  or  she  would  never  be  willing  to 
come  to  South  Plains  Academy.  So  between 
them  they  made  it  as  hard  for  her  as  they 
could. 

Claire  Benedict  did  not  know  it  until 
long  afterwards,  but  the  fact  was,  that  dur 
ing  her  father's  funeral  services  she  had 


82  INTERRUPTED. 

been  selected  as  the  girl  whom  Mrs.  Foster 
wanted  with  her  at  South  Plains.  It  hap 
pened,  so  we  are  fond  of  saying,  that  Mrs. 
Foster  was  spending  a  few  days  on  busi 
ness  in  the  city  that  had  always  been 
Claire's  home,  and  she  saw  how  wonderfully 
large  portions  of  that  city  were  stirred  by 
one  death,  when  Sydney  Benedict  went  to 
heaven.  She  speculated  much  over  the  sort 
of  life  he  must  have  led  to  have  gotten 
the  hold  he  had  on  the  people.  She  began 
to  inquire  about  his  family,  about  his  chil 
dren.  Then  she  heard  much  of  Claire,  and 
grew  interested  in  her,  in  a  manner  which 
seemed  strange  even  to  herself.  And  when 
at  the  funeral  she  first  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  pale  face  and  earnest  eyes  of  the  girl 
who  looked  only,  and  with  a  certain  watch 
ful  air  at  her  mother,  as  if  she  would  shield 
her  from  every  touch  that  she  could,  Mrs. 
Foster  had  murmured  under  her  breath, 
"  I  think  this  is  the  girl  I  want  with  me." 
She  prayed  about  it  a  good  deal  during  the 
next  few  days,  and  grew  sure  of  it,  and 
waited  only  to  make  the  way  plain,  so  that 


LIFTED    UP.  83 

she  could  venture  her  modest  little  offer, 
and  felt  sure  that  if  the  Master  intended  it 
thus,  the  offer  would  be  accepted.  And  it 
was,  but  iu  blindness,  so  far  as  Claire  Ben 
edict  was  concerned.  I  have  sometimes 
questioned  whether,  if  a  bright  angel  had 
come  down  out  of  heaven  and  stood  beside 
Claire,  and  said :  "  The  King  wants  you  to 
go  with  all  speed  to  South  Plains;  he  has 
special  and  important  work  for  you  there; 
he  has  opened  the  way  for  you,"  the  child 
would  not  have  been  more  content,  and  had 
much  less  of  the  feeling  that  her  work  was 
interrupted.  But  I  do  not  know,  she  might 
rather  have  said : 

"  Why  in  the  world  must  I  go  to  South 
Plains  ?  I  had  work  enough  to  do  at  home, 
and  I  was  doing  it ;  and  now  it  will  all 
come  to  nought  because  there  is  no  leader! 
It  stands  to  reason  that  I,  in  my  poverty 
and  obscurity,  down  in  that  out-of-the-way 
village,  can  not  do  as  much  as  I,  with  my 
full  purse,  and  leisure  days,  and  happy  sur 
roundings,  and  large  acquaintances  could  do 
here." 


84  INTERRUPTED. 

We  love  to  be  governed  by  reason,  and 
hate  to  walk  in  the  dark.  I  have  always 
wondered  what  Philip  said  when  called  to 
leave  his  great  meeting,  where  it  seemed 
hardly  possible  to  do  without  him,  and  go 
toward  the  south  on  a  desert  road.  That 
he  went,  and  promptly,  is,  I  think,  a  won 
derful  thing  for  Philip. 

Well,  the  red  eyes  of  the  young  music- 
teacher  by  no  means  escaped  the  watchful 
ones  of  Mrs.  Foster.  Neither  had  her  short, 
almost  sharp,  negative  in  reply  to  a  some 
what  timidly  put  question  of  a  pupil,  as  to 
whether  she  was  going  out  to  church  that 
evening.  There  were  reasons  why  Mrs.  Fos 
ter  believed  that  it  would  be  much  better  for 
her  sad-hearted  music-teacher  to  go  to  church 
than  to  remain  glooming  at  home.  There 
were,  indeed,  very  special  reasons  on  that 
particular  evening.  The  Ansted  girls'  uncle 
was  going  to  preach,  she  had  heard,  but 
should  she  go  to  this  young  Christian,  of 
whom  she  as  yet  knew  but  little,  and  offer 
as  a  reason  for  church-going  that  a  stranger 
was  to  preach  instead  of  the  pastor !  How- 


LIFTED    UP.  85 

ever  she  managed  it,  Mrs.  Foster  was  sure 
she  would  riot  do  that.  Yet  it  will  give 
you  a  hint  of  the  little  woman's  ways  when  I 
tell  you  that  she  was  almost  equally  sure  she 
should  manage  it  in  some  way. 

Half  an  hour  before  evening  service  there 
was  a  tap  at  Claire's  door,  and  the  princi 
pal  entered,  and  came  directly  to  the  point: 
Would  Miss  Benedict  be  so  kind  as  to  ac 
company  Fanny  and  Ella  Ansted  to  church 
that  evening  ?  Miss  Parsons  was  suffering 
with  sick  headache,  and  she  herself  could 
not  leave  her.  There  was  no  other  available 
chaperone  for  the  young  girls,  who  were  not 
accustomed  to  going  out  alone  in  the  even 
ing,  but  who  were  unusually  anxious  to  at 
tend  church,  as  their  uncle,  who  had  been 
stopped  over  the  Sabbath  by  an  accident, 
was  to  preach. 

Miss  Benedict  had  her  lips  parted,  ready 
to  say  that  she  was  not  going  out,  but 
paused  in  the  act.  What  excuse  could  she 
give?  No  sick  headache  to  plead,  and  no 
body  to  care  for ;  the  night  was  not  stormy, 
if  it  was  sullen,  and  the  church  was  not  a 


86  INTERRUPTED. 

great  distance  away.  She  had  been  wont  to 
accommodate  people  always,  but  she  never 
felt  so  little  like  it  as  to-night.  However, 
there  stood  Mrs.  Foster  quietly  awaiting  an 
answer,  and  her  face  seemed  to  express  the 
belief  that  of  course,  the  answer  would  be 
as  she  wished. 

"Very  well,"  came  at  last  from  the  teach 
er's  lips,  and  she  began  at  once  to  make 
ready. 

"  It  is  for  this  I  was  hired,"  she  told  her 
self  bitterly.  "  I  must  not  forget  how  utterly 
changed  my  life  is  in  this  respect  as  in  all 
others.  I  am  my  own  mistress  n,o  longer, 
but  even  in  the  matter  of  church-going  must 
hold  myself  at  the  call  of  others." 

As  for  the  principal,  as  she  closed  the 
door  with  a  gentle  "  Thank  you,"  she  told 
herself  that  it  was  much  better  for  the  poor 
child  to  go ;  and  that  she  must  see  to  it 
what  she  could  do  during  the  week  to  brighten 
that  room  a  little. 

The  stuffy  church  was  the  same ;  nay,  it 
was  more  so,  for  every  vile  lamp  was  lighted 
now,  and  sent  a  sickly,  smoky  shadow  to 


LIFTED    UP.  S/ 

the  ceiling,  and  cast  as  little  light  upon  the 
surrounding  darkness  as  possible.  But  the 
uncle  !  I  do  not  know  how  to  describe  to 
you  the  difference  between  him  and  the 
dreary  reader  of  the  morning !  It  was  not 
simply  the  difference  in  appearance  and  voice, 
though  really  these  were  tremendous,  but  he 
had  a  solemn  message  for  the  people,  and  not 
only  for  the  people  whose  Sabbath  home  was  in 
that  church,  but  for  Claire  Benedict  as  well. 

She  did  not  think  it  at  first.  She  smiled 
drearily  over  the  almost  ludicrous  incongruity 
of  the  text  as  measured  by  the  surround 
ings.  "  If  I  prefer  not  Jerusalem  above  my 
chief  joy." 

The  folly  of  supposing  that  any  sane  per 
son  preferred  such  a  desolate,  modern  Je 
rusalem  as  this  above  his  chief  joy !  The 
very  care  with  which  the  men  brushed  a 
clear  spot  for  their  hats  on  the  dusty  seats, 
and  the  manner  in  which  the  women  gath 
ered  their  dresses  about  them,  to  keep  them 
from  contact  with  the  floor,  showed  the 
place  which  the  sanctuary  held  in  their  af 
fections. 


88  INTERRUPTED. 

But  as  the  preacher  developed  his  theme, 
it  would  almost  seem  that  he  had  selected 
it  for  Claire  Benedict's  special  benefit.  It 
was  not  what  had  been  done,  or  was  being 
done,  that  he  desired  to  impress,  but  rather 
what  ought  to  be  done. 

The  earthly  Jerusalem,  instead  of  being 
one  particular  church  building,  was  any 
church  of  Christ  where  a  Christian's  lot  was 
cast,  even  for  a  single  Sabbath.  He  or  she 
was  bound  by  solemn  covenant  vows  to  do 
all  for  that  church  which  lay  in  his  or  her 
power;  as  fully,  as  unreservedly,  as  though  that 
church,  and  that  alone,  represented  his  or 
her  visible  connection  with  the  great  Head. 
What  solemn  words  were  these,  breaking  in 
on  the  flimsy  walls  of  exclusiveness  which 
this  young  disciple  had  been  busy  all  the 
afternoon  building  up  about  her !  The  church 
at  South  Plains  her  place  of  service !  actu 
ally  bound  to  it  by  the  terms  of  her  cov 
enant! 

Others  had  their  message  from  that  plainly* 
worded,  intensely-earnest  sermon.  I  have  no 
doubt  there  was  a  special  crumb  for  each 


LIFTED    UP.  89 

listener  —  it  is  a  peculiarity  belonging  to 
any  real  breaking  of  the  bread  of  life  — 
but  Claire  Benedict  busied  herself  with  none 
of  them.  Her  roused  and  startled  heart 
had  enough  to  do  to  digest  the  solid  food 
that  was  given  as  her  portion. 

The  truth  was  made  very  plain  to  her 
that  she  had  no  more  right  to  build  a  shell 
and  creep  into  it,  and  declare  that  this 
church,  and  this  choir,  and  this  Sunday- 
school,  and  this  prayer-meeting,  yes,  and 
even  this  smoking  stove  and  wheezing  organ, 
were  nothing  to  her  because  she  was  to 
stay  in  South  Plains  but  a  few  months, 
and  her  home  was  far  away  in  the  city, 
than  she  had  to  say  that  she  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  people  or  the  places  on 
this  earth,  no  sense  or  responsibility  con 
cerning  them,  no  duties  connected  with 
them,  because  she  was  to  be  here  only  for 
a  few  years  and  her  home  was  in  heaven. 

Gradually  this  keen-edged  truth  seemed 
to  penetrate  every  fibre  of  her  being.  This 
very  church,  cobweb-trimmed,  must}"-smell- 
ing,  was  for  the  time  being  her  individual 


9O  INTERRUPTED. 

working  ground,  to  be  preferred  above  her 
chief  joy !  Nay,  the  very  red  curtain  that 
swayed  back  and  forth,  blown  by  the  north 
wind  which  found  its  way  through  a  hole 
in  the  window,  and  which  she  hated,  be 
came  a  faded  bit  of  individual  property  for 
which  she  was,  in  a  sense,  responsible. 

She  walked  home  almost  in  silence.  The 
girls  about  her  chattered  of  the  sermon  ; 
pronounced  it  splendid,  and  admitted  that 
they  would  just  a  little  rather  hear  Uncle 
Eben  preach  than  anybody  else,  and  it  was 
no  wonder  that  his  people  almost  worshiped 
him,  and  had  raised  his  salary  only  last 
month.  Claire  listened,  or  appeared  to,  and 
answered  directly  put  questions  with  some 
show  of  knowledge  as  to  what  was  being 
discussed ;  but  for  herself,  Dr.  Ansted  had 
gone  out  of  her  thoughts.  She  liked  his 
voice,  and  his  manner,  and  his  elocution, 
but  the  force  behind  all  these  had  put 
them  all  aside,  and  the  words  which  re 
peated  themselves  to  her  soul  were  these: 
"  If  I  prefer  not  Jerusalem  above  iny  chief 
joy!"  What  then?  Why,  then  I  am  false 


LIFTED    UP.  91 

to  my  covenant  vows,  and  the  possibilities 
are  that  I  am  none  of  His. 

Mrs.  Foster  was  in  the  hall  when  the 
party  from  the  church  arrived.  Wide  open 
as  to  eyes  and  mental  vision,  quiet  as  to 
voice  and  manner,  she  had  "stiiid  at  home 
and  ministered  to  the  victim  of  sick  head 
ache.  She  had  been  tender  and  low-voiced, 
and  deft-handed,  and  untiring;  but  during 
the  lulls  when  there  had  been  comparative 
quiet,  she  had  bowed  her  head  and  prayed 
that  the  sad-hearted  young  music-teacher 
might  meet  Christ  in  his  temple  that  even 
ing,  and  come  home  up-lifted.  She  did  not 
know  how  it  was  to  be  done. 

She  knew  nothing  about  the  Ansted  un 
cle  save  that  he  was  an  ambassador  of 
Christ,  and  she  knew  that  the  Lord  could 
use  the  shabbily-dressed  ambassador  of  the 
morning  as  well  as  he ;  she  did  not  rely  on 
the  instruments,  except  as  they  lay  in  the 
hand  of  God.  She  did  not  ask  for  any 
special  thought  to  be  given  to  Claire  Bene 
dict;  faith  left  that,  too,  in  the  hand  of  the 
Lord.  She  only  asked  that  she  should  be 


92  INTERRUPTED. 

ministered  unto,  and  strengthened  for  the 
work,  whatever  it  was  that  he  desired  of 
her.  And  she  needed  not  to  question,  to 
discover  that  her  prayer,  while  she  had  yet 
been  speaking,  was  answered.  The  mu.-ic- 
teacher  did  not  bring  home  the  same 
thoughts  that  she  had  taken  away  with  her. 

She  went  swiftly  to  her  room.  The  fire 
had  been  remembered,  and  was  burning 
brightly. 

The  first  thing  she  did  was  to  feed  its 
glowing  coals  with  the  letter  that  had  been 
commenced  to  mamma  and  Dora  during 
the  afternoon.  Not  that  there  had  been 
anything  in  it  about  her  heaped-up  sorrows, 
or  her  miserable  surroundings,  or  her  gloomy 
resolves,  but  in  the  light  of  the  present 
revelation  she  did  not  like  the  tone  of  it. 

She  went  to  her  knees,  presently,  but  it 
would  have  been  noticeable  there  that  she 
said  almost  nothing  about  resolves,  or  failures. 
Her  uttered  words  were  brief;  were,  indeed, 
only  these:  "Dear  Christ,  it  is  true  I  needed 
less  of  self  and  more  of  thee.  Myself  has 
failed  me  utterly ;  Jesus,  I  come  to  thee." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"CUE   CHURCH." 

THE  dreary  weather  was  not  gone  by 
the  next  morning.  A  keen  wind  was 
blowing,  and  ominous  flakes  of  snow  were 
fluttering  their  signals  in  the  air ;  but  the 
music-room  was  warm,  and  the  music-teacher 
herself  had  gotten  above  the  weather.  She 
was  at  the  piano,  waiting  for  the  bell  to 
ring  that  should  give  the  signal  for  morn 
ing  prayers. 

Around  the  stove  were  gathered  a  group 
of  girls  who  had  hushed  their  voices  at 
her  entrance.  They  were  afraid  of  the  pale 
music-teacher.  Hitherto  they  had  regarded 
her  with  mingled  feelings  of  awe  and  dis 
like. 

Her  very  dress,  plain  black  though  it 
was,  with  its  exquisite  fit  and  finish,  seemed 
93 


94  INTERRUPTED. 

to  mark  her  as  belonging  to  another  world 
than  themselves.  They  expected  to  learn 
music  of  her,  but  they  expected  nothing 
else. 

It  was  therefore  with  a  visible  start  of 
surprise  that  they  received  her  first  ad 
vances  in  the  shape  of  a  question,  as  she 
suddenl}7  wheeled  on  the  piano-stool  and 
confronted  them : 

"Girls,  don't  you  think  our  church  is 
just  dreadful?" 

Whether  it  was  a  delicate  tact,  or  a  sweet 
spirit  born  of  the  last  evening's  experience, 
that  led  Claire  Benedict  to  introduce  that 
potent  little  "our"  into  her  sentence,  I  will 
leave  you  to  judge. 

It  had  a  curious  effect  on  the  girls  around 
the  stove.  These  bright-faced,  keen-brained, 
thoroughly-good  girls,  who  had  lived  all 
their  lives  in  a  different  atmosphere  from 
hers.  They  were  good  scholars  in  algebra, 
they  were  making  creditable  progress  in 
Latin,  and  some  of  them  were  doing  fairly 
well  in  music ;  but  they  could  no  more  set 
their  hats  on  their  heads  with  the  nameless 


"OUR    CHURCH.  95 

grace  which  hovered  around  Claire  Bene 
dict's  plainly-trimmed  plush  one,  than  they 
could  fly  through  the  air.  This  is  just  one 
illustration  of  the  many  differences  between 
them.  This  young  lady  had  lived  all  her  days 
in  the  environments  of  city  culture ;  they 
had  caught  glimpses  of  city  life,  and  it 
meant  to  them  an  unattainable  fairy-land, 
full  of  lovely  opportunities  and  probabilities, 
such  as  would  never  come  to  them.  It 
struck  every  one  of  those  girls  as  a  pecu 
liarly  pleasant  thing  that  their  lovely  music- 
teacher  had  said  "our"  instead  of  "your." 

One  of  the  less  timid  presently  rallied 
sufficiently  to  make  answer: 

"Dreadful?  It  is  just  perfectly  horrid! 
It  fairly  gives  me  the  blues  to  go  to  church. 
Girls,  mother  has  almost  spoiled  her  new 
cashmere  sweeping  the  church  floor  with  it. 
She  says  she  would  be  ashamed  to  have 
our  wood-shed  look  as  badly  as  that  floor 
does.  I  don't  see  why  the  trustees  allow 
such  slovenliness." 

"  It  is  because  we  can  not  afford  to  pay 
8  decent  sexton,"  sighed  one  of  the  others. 


96  INTERRUPTED. 

"We  are  so  awful  poor!  That  is  the  cry 
you  always  hear  if  there  is  a  thing  said. 
I  don't  believe  we  deserve  a  church  at  all." 

Claire  had  partially  turned  back  to  the 
piano,  and  she  touched  the  keys  softly,  re 
calling  a  long-forgotten  strain  about  "  Gird 
ing  on  the  armor,"  before  she  produced  her 
next  startling  sentence. 

"  Girls,  let  us  dress  up  that  church  until 
it  doesn't  know  itself." 

If  the  first  words  had  astonished  them, 
this  suggestion  for  a  moment  struck  them 
dumb.  They  looked  at  one  another,  then 
at  the  resolute  face  01  the  musician.  Then 
one  of  them  gasped  out: 

"Us    girls?" 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  from  two  dismayed 
voices. 

"How  could  we  do  anything?"  from  a 
gentle  timid  one. 

"But  the  girl  who  had  found  courage  to 
speak  before,  and  to  volunteer  her  opinion 
as  to  the  disgraced  church,  sounded  her 
reply  on  a  different  note: 

"When?" 


"OUR  CHURCH."  97 

"Right  away,"  said  the  music  teacher, 
smiling  brightly  on  them  all,  but  answering 
only  the  last  speaker. 

Then  she  left  the  piano,  and  came  over 
to  the  centre  of  the  cfroup,  which  parted 
to  let  her  in. 

"  Just  as  soon  as  we  can,  I  mean.  We 
must  first  secure  the  money;  but  I  think 
we  can  work  fast,  with  such  a  motive." 

Then  came  the  chorus  of  discourage 
ments: 

"Miss  Benedict,  you  don't  know  South 
Plains.  We  never  can  raise  this  money  in 
the  world.  It  has  been  tried  a  dozen  dif 
ferent  times,  and  there  are  a  dozen  differ 
ent  parties,  as  sure  as  we  try  to  do  any 
thing.  Some  people  won't  give  toward  the 
old  church,  because  they  want  a  new  one. 
As  if  we  could  ever  have  a  new  church ! 
Others  think  it  is  well  enough  as  it  is,  if  it 
could  be  swept  now  and  then.  And  there 
is  one  woman  who  always  goes  to  talking 
about  the  time  she  gave  the  most  for  that 
old  rag  of  a  carpet  on  the  platform,  and 
then  they  went  and  bought  it  at  another 


98  INTERRUPTED. 

store  instead  of  at  theirs,  where  they  ought 
to,  and  for  her  part,  she  will  never  give 
another  cent  toward  fixing  up  that  church." 

Another   voice   chimed  in : 

"  Yes ;  and  there  is  an  old  man  who  says 
honesty  comes  before  benevolence.  He 
seems  to  think  it  would  be  quite  a  benevo 
lence  to  somebody  to  fix  up  that  old  rook 
ery  ;  and  they  owe  him  ten  dollars  for  coal, 
and  they  will  never  prosper  in  the  world 
until  they  pay  him." 

"  Is  it  true    about   the  society  owing  him  ? " 

"  No,  ma'am ;  it  isn't.  Father  says  they 
paid  him  more  than  the  coal  was  worth. 
He  is  an  old  scamp.  But  it  is  just  a  spec 
imen  of  the  way  things  go  here ;  hundreds 
of  reasons  seem  to  pop  up  to  hinder  people 
from  doing  a  thing;  and  all  the  old  stories 
are  raked  up,  and  after  awhile  everybody 
gets  mad  with  everybody  else,  and  won't 
try  to  do  anything.  You  never  saw  such 
a  place  as  South  Plains." 

But  the  music-teacher  laughed.  She  wa? 
so  sure  of  what  ought  to  be  done,  and 
therefore,  of  course,  of  what  could  be  done, 


"OUR   CHURCH."  99 

that  she  could  afford  to  laugh  over  the  lu 
dicrous  side  of  this  doleful  story. 

The  girls,  however,  did  not  see  the  ludi 
crous  side. 

"It  makes  me  cold  all  over,  just  thinking 
about  trying  to  beg  money  in  South  Plains 
for  anything;  and  for  the  church  most  of 
all!" 

To  be  sure  this  was  Nettie  Burdick's 
statement,  and  she  was  noted  for  timidity; 
but  none  of  the  bolder  ones  controverted 
her  position. 

But  Miss  Benedict  had  another  bomb 
shell  to  throw  into  their  midst. 

"Begging  money  is  dreadful  work,  I  sup 
pose.  I  never  did  much  of  it.  My  collect 
ing  route  lay  among  people  who  were 
pledged  to  give  just  so  much,  and  who  as 
fully  expected  to  pay  it  when  the  collector 
called,  as  they  expected  to  pay  their  gas 
bill  or  their  city  taxes.  But  don't  let  us 
think  of  doing  any  such  thing.  Let  us 
raise  the  money  right  here  among  our 
selves." 

Blank   silence   greeted    her.     Had   she    been 


IOO  INTERRUPTED. 

able  to  look  into  their  hearts,  she  would 
have  seen  something  like  this :  Oh,  yes !  it 
is  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk  of  raising 
money.  Anybody  can  see  by  your  dress, 
and  your  style,  and  everything,  that  you 
have  plenty  of  it;  but  if  you  expect  money 
from  us,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talk 
ing  about.  The  most  of  us  have  to  work 
so  hard,  and  coax  so  long  to  get  decent 
things  to  wear,  that  we  are  almost  tired  of 
a  dress  or  a  bonnet  before  it  is  worn.  But 
this  they  did  not  want  to  put  into  words. 
Neither  did  Miss  Benedict  wait  for  them. 

"  We    must   earn   it,  of  course,  you    know." 

"  Earn  it !  How  ? "  Half  a  dozen  voices 
this  time. 

"  Oh,  in  a  dozen  ways,"  smiling  brightly. 
"To  begin  with,  there  is  voluntary  contri 
bution.  Perhaps  we  can  not  all  help  in  that 
way,  but  some  of  us  can,  and  every  little 
helps.  My  salary,  for  instance,  is  three  hun 
dred  a  year." 

She  caught  her  breath  as  she  said  this, 
and  paled  a  little.  It  was  much  less  than 
Sydney  Benedict  had  allowed  his  daughter 


"OUR    CHURCH,"  101 

for  spending  money;  but  to  those  girls  it 
sounded  like  a  little  fortune. 

"  That  is  twenty-five  dollars  a  month, 
and  a  tenth  of  that  is  two  dollars  and  a 
half.  Now  I  propose  to  start  this  scheme 
hy  giving  the  'tenths'  of  two  months'  sal 
ary.  Come,  Nettie,  get  your  pencil,  and  be 
our  secretary.  We  might  as  well  put  it  in 
black  and  white,  and  make  a  beginning." 

"  Do  you  always  give  a  tenth  of  every 
thing  you  have?" 

It  was  Nannie  Howard's  question,  asked 
in  a  hesitating,  thoughtful  tone,  while  Net 
tie  blushing  and  laughing,  went  into  the 
depths  of  her  pocket  for  a  pencil,  tore  a 
fly-leaf  from  her  algebra,  and  wrote  Miss 
Benedict's  name. 

"  Always !  "  said  the  music-teacher,  gently, 
her  lip  trembling  and  her  voice  quivering  a 
little.  "  It  was  my  father's  rule.  He  taught 
it  to  me  when  I  was  a  little,  little  girl." 

They  could  not  know  how  pitiful  it  seemed 
to  her  that  the  daughter  of  the  man  who 
had  given  his  annual  thousands  as  tenths, 
had  really  to  spend  an  hour  in  planning,  so 


102  INTERRUPTED. 

that  she  might  see  her  way  clear  toward 
giving  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  month ! 
Not  that  this  young  Christian  intended  to 
wait  until  she  could  see  her  way  clear. 
Her  education  had  been,  The  tenth  belongs 
to  God.  As  much  more  as  you  can  con 
scientiously  spare,  of  course ;  but  this  is  to 
be  laid  aside  without  question.  Her  educa 
tion,  built  on  the  rock  of  Christian  principle, 
had  laid  it  aside  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
then  her  human  nature  had  lain  awake  and 
planned  how  to  get  along  without  it,  and 
yet  not  draw  on  the  sacred  fund  at  the 
bank. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  a  good  rule,"  Mary 
Burton  said,  "though  I  never  thought  of 
doing  such  a  thing.  Well,"  after  another 
thoughtful  pause,  "  I  may  as  well  begin,  I 
suppose.  I  have  a  dollar  a  month  to  do 
what  I  like  with.  I'll  give  two  dollars  to 
the  fund." 

"  Good  ! "  said  Miss  Benedict.  "  Why,  girls, 
we  have  a  splendid  beginning." 

But  Mary  Burton  was  an  exception ;  not 
another  girl  in  the  group  had  an  allowance. 


"  OUR    CHURCH.  IO3 

A  few  minutes  of  total  silence  followed ; 
then  a  new  type  of  character  came  to  the 
front. 

"  Father  gave  me  a  dollar  this  morning 
to  get  me  a  new  pair  of  gloves;  but  I  sup 
pose  I  can  make  the  old  ones  do.  I'll  give 
that." 

"  O,  Kate !  your  gloves  look  just  horrid." 
This  from  a  younger  sister. 

"  I  know  they  do,  but  I  don't  care,"  with 
a  little  laugh  that  belied  the  words;  "so 
does  the  church." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Anna  Graves.  "  It 
gives  one  the  horrors  just  to  think  of  it. 
I  gave  up  all  hope  of  its  being  fixed,  long 
ago,  because  I  knew  the  men  would  never 
do  it  in  the  world;  but  if  there  is  anything 
we  can  accomplish,  let's  do  it.  I  say  we 
try.  I  was  going  to  trim  my  brown  dress 
with  velvet.  It  will  cost  two  dollars.  I'll 
give  it  up  and  trim  with  the  same.  Nettie 
Burdick,  put  me  down  for  two  dollars." 

This,  or  something  else,  set  the  two  timid 
ones,  who  were  sisters,  to  whispering ;  pres 
ently  they  nodded  their  heads  in  satisfaction. 


IO4  INTERRUPTED. 

Whatever  their  plan  was,  they  kept  it  to 
themselves.  It  undoubtedly  included  self- 
sacrifice,  as  they  belonged  to  a  family  who 
honestly  had  but  little  from  which  to  give, 
but  they  presently  directed  that  their  names 
be  set  down  for  a  dollar  each. 

Apparently,  the  crowning  bit  of  sacrifice 
came  from  Ruth  Jennings. 

"  Father  has  been  promising  me  a  piano- 
stool  for  more  than  a  year,"  she  explained, 
laughing.  "  This  morning  he  gave  me  the 
money,  and  I  have  a  note  written  to  Benny 
Brooks  to  bring  it  down  with  him  next 
Saturday ;  but  I  do  so  dreadfully  hate  those 
red  curtains,  that  if  you  will  promise  to  do 
something  with  the  windows  the  first  thing, 
I'll  sit  on  the  dictionary  and  the  Patent 
Office  Reports  for  another  year.  A  stool 
such  as  I  was  going  to  get,  costs  four  dol 
lars.  Put  it  down,  Nettie,  quick !  " 

A  general  clapping  of  hands  ensued.  Not 
a  girl  present  but  appreciated  that  to  Ruth 
Jennings  this  was  quite  a  sacrifice.  As  for 
Miss  Benedict,  her  eyes  were  brimming. 

"You     dear    girls,"    she    said,    eagerly,    "I 


"OUR  CHURCH."  105 

* 

feel  as  though  I  wanted  to  kiss  every  one 
of  you.  We  will  certainly  have  our  church 
made  over.  I  feel  sure  of  it  now.  I  think 
some  of  you  must  prefer  it  above  your 
chief  joy." 

This   called   forth   a   chorus    of  voices: 

"  O,  Miss  Benedict,  you  don't  think  that 
velvet  ribbons,  and  gloves,  and  such  things, 
are  our  chief  joys,  do  you?" 

"  Or  even  piano-stools  ! "  This  from  Ruth 
Jennings,  amid  much  laughter.  But  Miss 
Benedict's  face  was  grave. 

"  Has  the  church  been  ? "  She  asked  the 
question  gently,  yet  in  a  sufficiently  signifi 
cant  tone. 

The   reply   was   prompt. 

"  I  should  think  not !  Such  a  horrid  old 
den  as  it  is!  How  could  there  be  any  joy 
about  it!" 

The  words  of  the  evening's  text  were  re 
peating  themselves  so  forcibly  in  their  teacher's 
heart  that  she  could  not  refrain  from  quot 
ing  :  "  Let  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of 
my  mouth,  if  I  prefer  not  Jerusalem  above 
my  chief  joy." 


IO6  INTERRUPTED. 

The   laughter   was   hushed. 

"  But  that  doesn't  mean  the  building,  does 
it,  Miss  Benedict?" 

"  The  building  is  the  outward  sign  of  Ilis 
presence,  is  it  not?  And  suggests  one  of 
the  ways  in  which  we  can  show  our  love 
for  the  God  to  whose  worship  the  church 
is  dedicated  ?  " 

As  she  spoke  she  wound  an  arm  around 
the  young  girl's  waist,  and  was  answered, 
thoughtfully : 

"  I  suppose  so.  It  seems  wrong  to  talk 
about  worshipping  God  in  a  place  that  is 
not  even  clean,  doesn't  it  ? " 

How  familiar  they  were  growing  with 
their  pretty  young  teacher,  of  whom  they 
had  thought,  only  the  day  before,  that  they 
should  always  be  afraid. 

"  Isn't   she    sweet  ?  " 

This  question  they  repeated  one  to  another, 
as,  in  answer  to  the  bell  summoning  them 
to  morning  prayers,  they  moved  down  the 
hall. 

"  So  quick-witted  and  so  unselfish !  "  said 
a  second. 


"OUR  CHURCH.'*  107 

"  And  not  a  bit  4  stuck  up '  1 "  declared  a 
third. 

And  with  their  brains  throbbing  with  new 
ideas,  they  went  in  to  prayers.  They  glanced 
at  one  another  and  smiled,  when  Mrs.  Foster 
announced  the  hymn, 

Work,  for  the  night  is  coming, 
Work  through  the  morning  hour. 

They  every  one  meant    to  work. 


CHAPTER  Vllt. 

MAKING   OPPORTUNITIES. 

THEN  began  a  new  era  in  the  life  of 
the  girls  at  South  Plains  Academy. 
They  had  work  to  do.  A  common  interest 
possessed  them.  They  had  a  leader;  such 
an  one  as  they  had  never  known  before. 
She  was  capable  of  originating  and  guiding. 
She  not  only  knew  how  to  talk,  but  how 
to  do. 

Committee  meetings  became  the  fashion  of 
the  day.  No  time  now  for  loitering  over 
lessons,  no  weary  yawning  behind  the  covers 
of  wearisome  text-books. 

Promptly  at  four  o'clock  was  to  be  a 
meeting  of  importance.  It  would  be  "just 
horrid"  to  be  detained  in  the  recitation- 
room  over  an  imperfectly-prepared  lesson, 

while  the  others  hastened   to  Miss  Benedict's 
108 


MAKING    OPPORTUNITIES.  IO9 

room,  to  be  met  with  her  questioning  as  to 
the  where  and  why  of  the  absent  member. 
Mrs.  Foster  had  never  seen  better  work  done 
than  went  on  among  her  girls  during  the 
weeks  that  followed. 

There  was  need  for  committee  meetings, 
and  for  almost  endless  discussions  of  ways 
and  means.  The  voluntary  offerings  were 
all  in,  and  though  each  had  done  her  best, 
all  knew  that  the  sum  total  was  meager 
enough.  Money  must  certainly  be  earned, 
but  the  grave  question  was,  How  ? 

"  Oh,  there  are  ways,"  declared  Miss  Ben 
edict,  with  a  confidence  that  of  itself  in 
spired  courage.  "  Of  course,  there  are  a  good 
many  ways ;  and  we  must  think  them  up. 
Earning  money  is  never  very  easy  business, 
and  we  must  begin  by  understanding,  that 
as  a  matter  of  course,  there  is  work,  and 
disagreeable  work,  of  some  sort,  in  store  for 
each  one  of  us." 

The  girls,  each  and  all,  declared  them 
selves  ready  for  work,  but  totally  in  the 
dark.  They  knew  how  to  save  money,  the 
most  of  them,  provided  they  could  get  hold 


I IO  INTERRUPTED. 

of  any  to  save;  but  as  for  earning  it,  they 
really  had  never  earned  a  cent  in  their 
lives.  There  had  been  no  opportunity,  so 
they  declared. 

"We  will  make  opportunities,"  announced 
the  brave  young  leader,  to  whom  money  had 
hitherto  flowed  in  an  unbroken  stream.  But 
her  courage  was  contagious,  as  true  courage 
often  is,  and  the  girls  laughed,  and  an 
nounced  themselves  as  ready,  even  to  make 
opportunities,  if  somebody  would  show  them 
how. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Miss  Benedict ;  her 
head  dropped  a  little  to  one  side,  her  chin 
resting  on  her  hand  in  the  attitude  that  she 
used  to  assume,  when  Dora  said  she  was 
planning  a  house  and  lot  for  some  prote'ge'. 
"  To  begin  with,  there  are  things  to  be  sold 
by  agencies." 

Two  or  three  girls  gravely  shook  their 
heads ;  one  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  an 
evidence  of  dismay,  not  to  say  disgust,  and 
Ruth  Jennings  spoke  : 

"  Book  agents !  We  'can't  do  it,  Miss 
Benedict.  There  are  not  three  people  in 


MAKING    OPPORTUNITIES.  Ill 

South  Plains  who  ever  think  of  buying  a 
book.  One  of  the  creatures  canvassed  the 
whole  town  last  summer;  was  in  every  house 
within  three  miles,  and  she  sold  just  four 
books.  A  good  book  it  was,  too ;  but  the 
people  who  had  mone}7"  to  spare  didn't  want 
it,  and  the  people  who  wanted  it  hadn't 
the  money.  I  was  never  more  sprry  for  any 
body  in  my  life  than  I  was  for  that  poor 
girl,  who  wore  out  a  pair  of  shoes  and  a 
pair  of  gloves,  and  spoiled  her  bonnet,  to 
say  nothing  of  her  temper.  And  she  was 
voted  the  greatest  nuisance  we  ever  had  in 
this  village,  and  that  is  saying  a  great 
deal." 

Miss  Benedict  laughed  merrily.  Ruth's 
voluble  tongue  always  amused  her. 

"I  don't  mean  books,"  she  explained. 
"There  are  other  things;  for  instance,  hair 
pins." 

The  sentence  closed  with  a  little  laugh, 
and  seemed  to  be  suggested  by  the  drop 
ping  of  one  of  the  gleaming  things  at  that 
moment  from  her  hair ;  but  there  was  that 
in  her  voice  which  made  the  girls  think 


112  INTERRUPTED. 

there  was  a  real  suggestion  hidden  in  it, 
though  they  could  not  see  how. 

"  Hair-pins  I "  repeated  Ruth,  in  puzzled 
tone. 

"Yes:  really  and  truly,  not  metaphori 
cally.  I  bought  some  last  night  at  the  store 
in  the  village ;  the  best,  the  clerk  gravely 
assured  me,  that  were  to  be  had.  Wretched 
tilings !  I  wore  one  for  an  hour,  then  threw 
it  in  the  stove ;  it  seemed  to  me  that  it 
pulled  each  hair  of  my  head  during  that 
one  hour.  Look  at  the  kind  we  ought  to 
have !  "  Whereupon  she  drew  the  gleaming 
thing  out  again,  and  passed  it  around  for 
minute  scrutiny.  "  Blued  steel,  they  are,  you 
see;  that  is  the  trade  mark;  each  one  is  finished 
to  a  high  degree  of  smoothness.  One  who 
has  used  a  single  paper  of  them  could  not 
be  persuaded  to  content  herself  with  any 
other  kind.  Cheap  they  are,  too.  Actually 
cheaper  than  those  instruments  of  torture  I 
bought  last  night.  I  sent  to  my  sister  by  the 
morning  mail,  to  send  me  a  box  forthwith. 
That  suggested  the  business  to  me,  I  pre 
sume.  There  are  worthless  imitations,  but 


MAKING   OPPORTUNITIES.  113 

the  genuine  sort  can  be  bought  by  the 
quantity  very  cheaply  indeed,  and  a  respect 
able  profit  might  be  made  on  them  until  the 
people  were  supplied.  It  isn't  as  though  we 
were  at  work  in  a  city,  where  women  could 
supply  themselves  without  any  trouble.  It  is 
a  work  of  genuine  mercy,  I  think,  to  rescue 
the  ladies  from  those  prongs  to  which  they 
have  to  submit." 

"  Turn  hair-pin  pedlers ! "  said  Mary  Bur 
ton.  There  was  a  laugh  on  her  face,  but 
the  slightest  upward  curve  to  her  pretty  lip. 
Mary  felt  above  the  suggestion. 

Her  father  was  a  farmer,  decidedly  well- 
to-do,  and  owned  and  lived  in  one  of  the 
prettiest  places  about  South  Plains. 

"Yes,"  said  the  millionnaire's  daughter, 
who  had  lived  all  her  life  in  a  palatial 
home  such  as  Mary  Burton  could  not  even 
imagine,  "  pedlers,  if  you  like  the  name ; 
why  not?  It  is  a  good,  honest  business,  if 
one  keeps  good  stock,  and  sells  at  honest 
prices. 

"I  like  it  very  much  better  than  selling 
cake,  and  flowers,  and  nuts,  and  candy,  in 


1 14  INTERRUPTED. 

the  church,  at  wicked  prices,  in  the  name 
of  benevolence." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  over  this  hint. 
South  Plains  had  had  its  day  at  such  work 
as  this,  and  those  girls  knew  just  how 
"  wicked "  the  prices  were,  and  how  ques 
tionable  the  ways  which  had  been  resorted 
to  in  order  to  secure  customers. 

"  I'd  as  soon  sell  hair-pins  as  anything 
else,"  affirmed  Ruth  Jennings.  "  I  would 
like  some  of  them  myself;  we  always  get 
wretched  ones  down  at  the  corner  store. 
But,  Miss  Benedict,  do  you  believe  much 
could  be  made  just  out  of  hair-pins  ? " 

*'  Not  out  of  hair-pins  alone ;  but  there 
are  other  things,  plenty  of  them ;  little  con 
veniences,  you  know,  that  people  do  not 
think  of,  until  they  are  brought  to  their 
doors,  and  that  are  so  cheap,  it  seems  a 
pity  not  to  buy  them,  if  only  for  the  sake 
of  getting  pleasantly  rid  of  a  nuisance." 
This  with  a  merry  glance  at  Ruth. 

"  For  instance,  there  are  some  charming 
little  calendar  cards  being  gotten  up  for  the 
holiday  sales,  on  purpose  for  the  children. 


MAKING    OPPORTUNITIES.  11$ 

They  are  mounted  on  an  easel,  and  con 
tain  a  Bible  verse  for  every  day  in  the 
year,  with  a  bit  of  a  quotation  from  some 
good  author,  in  verse,  you  know ;  exquisite 
little  selections,  just  suited  to  children  ;  on 
each  Sabbath  the  card  contains  the  Golden 
Text  of  the  Sabbath-school  lesson.  They  are 
just  as  pretty  as  possible,  and  retail  for 
twenty  cents.  I  don't  believe  there  are  many 
mothers  who  could  resist  the  temptation  of 
buying  one  for  their  children.  But  useful 
things,  viewed  from  a  practical  standpoint, 
sell  the  best.  I  have  always  heard  that  the 
country  was  the  place  to  get  pies,  and  cus 
tards,  and  all  such  good  things?" 

"  It  is,"  said  one  of  the  girls,  with  a  con 
fident  nod  of  her  head.  "  This  is  the  great 
est  place  for  pies  you  ever  saw !  I  know 
people  who  have  a  pie  of  some  sort  for 
breakfast,  dinner  and  supper.  No  use  in 
trjdng  to  start  a  bakery  here.  People  all 
make  their  own,  and  plenty  of  it." 

Miss    Benedict    looked    her   satisfaction. 

"  Then  there  are  plenty  of  burnt  fingers, 
I  am  sure.  Nettie,  ray  dear,  you  said  you 


Il6  INTERRUPTED. 

helped  your  mother  on  Saturday,  which  I 
suppose  is  baking-day.  How  many  times  have 
you  blistered  your  poor  little  fingers  trying 
to  lift  out  a  hot  and  heavy  pie  from  the 
oven?" 

"  More  times  than  I  should  think  of  try 
ing  to  count ;  and,  for  that  matter,  I  have 
done  a  great  deal  worse  than  to  burn  my 
fingers.  Only  last  Saturday  I  tipped  a  pump 
kin  pie  upside  down  on  the  floor;  mother's 
clean  floor,  it  had  just  been  mopped.  The 
tin  was  hot,  you  see,  and  the  cloth  slipped 
somehow,  so  that  my  bare  fingers  came  right 
on  the  hottest  part,  and  I  just  squealed,  and 
dropped  the  whole  thing.  Oh,  such  a  mess!" 

"Precisely,"  said  Miss  Benedict,  looking 
unsympathetically  pleased  with  the  story.  "  I 
have  no  doubt  that  we  should  find  quite  a 
noble  army  of  martyrs  among  you  in  that 
very  line,  or  among  your  mothers  ;  you  girls 
would  be  more  likely  to  '  squeal  and  drop 
it,'  as  Nettie  has  said.  But  now  I  want  to 
know  what  is  to  hinder  us  from  being  bene 
factors  to  our  race,  and  earning  an  honest 
penny  in  the  bargain,  by  sending  for  a  box 


MAKING   OPPORTUNITIES.  1 1/ 

full  of  pie-lifters,  and  offering  one  to  every 
housekeeper  in  South  Plains?  They  are 
cheap,  arid  I  don't  believe  many  pie-bakers 
would  refuse  one." 

"Pie-lifters  !"  "I  never  heard  of  such  an 
institution."  "  What  in  the  world  are  they  ?  " 
Three  questioning  voices. 

"  Oh,  just  ingenious  little  pieces  of  iron, 
so  contrived  that  they  will  open  and  shut 
like  an  old-fashioned  pair  of  tongs,  only 
much  more  gracefully ;  they  adjust  themselves 
to  the  size  of  the  tin,  or  plate,  and  close 
firmly,  so  that  even  a  novice  can  lift  the 
hottest  pumpkin  pie  that  ever  bubbled,  and 
set  it  with  composure  and  complacency  on 
the  table  at  her  leisure." 

"I  should  think  they  would  be  splendid!" 

This,  in  varying  phraseology,  was  the 
general  vote. 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  of  one  of  the  greatest 
nuisances  out.  Look  here !  Did  you  ever 
see  a  more  starched-up  linen  cuff  than  this 
is?" 

The  girls  looked  admiringly.  No ;  they 
never  did.  It  shone  with  a  lovely  polish, 


Il8  INTERRUPTED. 

the  means  of  securing  which  was  unknown 
to  the  most  domestic  of  them. 

"  Well,"  explained  Miss  Benedict,  "  it  isn't 
linen  at  all.  By  the  way,  I  am  trying  to 
economize  in  laundry  work.  It  is  nothing 
but  paper,  but  with  such  a  good  linen 
finish  that  nobody  ever  discovers  it,  and 
they  answer  every  purpose.  I  find  they  don't 
keep  them  at  the  corner  store,  and  your 
young  gentleman  friends  would  like  them,  I 
am  sure.  They  can  be  had  at  the  factory 
very  reasonably,  indeed.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  we  would  better  invest  in  some.  But 
that  was  not  what  I  started  out  to  say. 
When  you  get  a  pair  of  cuffs  nicely  laun- 
dried,  so  that  they  are  stiff  and  shining, 
how  do  you  enjoy  struggling  with  them  to 
get  the  cuff  button  in,  or  to  get  it  out  — 
especially  if  you  are  in  a  hurry  ? " 

This  query  produced  much  merriment 
among  two  of  the  girls,  which  the  elder 
sister  presently  explained : 

"  You  ought  to  ask  that  question  of  our 
brother  Dick.  He  does  have  the  most  trying 
times  with  his  cuff  buttons.  He  wants  his 


MAKING    OPPORTUNITIES. 


cuffs  so  stiff  they  can  almost  walk  alone, 
and  then  he  fusses  and  struggles  to  get  the 
buttons  in  so  as  not  to  break  the  cuff. 
He  is  just  at  the  age,  Miss  Benedict,  to  be 
very  particular  about  such  things,  and  some 
times  he  gets  into  such  a  rage.  Last  Sun 
day  he  split  one  of  his  buttons  in  half  a 
dozen  pieces  tugging  at  it.  I  tried  to  help 
him,  but  I  couldn't  get  the  thing  in  ;  they 
are  a  dreadful  nuisance." 

"  Ah,  but  look  at  this."  A  sudden,  dex 
terous  movement,  and  the  button  was 
standing  perpendicularly  across  the  button 
hole,  and  could  be  slipped  in  or  out  with 
perfect  ease. 

The  girls  looked  and  admired  and  ex- 
claimed.  They  had  never  seen  such  a  con 
trivance. 

"  But  they  are  very  expensive,  are  they 
not?  "  This  question  came  from  the  ever- 
practical  Ruth. 

Miss  Benedict  readjusted  her  cuff  with  a 
sudden  quivering  of  the  lip,  as  a  rush  of 
memories  swept  over  her.  Those  heavy  gold 
cuff  buttons,  with  their  rare  and  delicate 


12O  INTERRUPTED. 

designs,  had  been  among  her  father's  gifts, 
less  than  a  year  ago. 

"  These  are  rather  so,"  she  said  presently, 
struggling  to  keep  her  voice  steady,  "but  the 
device  for  opening  and  shutting  is  introduced 
into  plain  buttons,  which  can  be  had  for 
twenty-five  cents  a  set ;  and  I  think  they  are 
a  great  comfort  especially  to  young  men." 

This  is  only  a  hint  of  the  talk.  It  was 
continued  at  several  meetings,  arid  plans  at 
last  were  perfected,  and  orders  made  out 
and  sent  to  the  city  for  a  dozen  or  more  useful 
articles,  none  of  them  bulky,  all  of  them  cheap. 
The  arrangement  was,  that  each  young  lady 
should  take  her  share  of  the  articles,  keep  her 
individual  account,  and  thenceforth  go  armed; 
hair-pins  and  cuff  buttons  in  her  pocket, 
ready,  as  opportunity  offered,  to  suggest  to 
a  friend  the  advisability  of  making  a  desir 
able  purchase.  If  she  went  to  a  neighbor's 
of  an  errand,  she  was  in  duty  bound  to 
take  a  pie-lifter  under  her  shawl,  and  describe 
its  merits.  Did  she  meet  a  reasonably-indul 
gent  mother,  out  were  to  come  the  pretty 
calendar  cards,  and  the  agent  thereof  was 


MAKING    OPPORTUNITIES.  121 

to  hold  herself  prepared  to  descant  eloquently 
on  their  beauties.  Thus,  through  the  whole 
stock  in  trade. 

As  for  the  "nuisance"  part,  of  course  it 
would  be  a  good  deal  of  a  nuisance,  and  a 
good  deal  of  a  cross;  especially  when  they 
met  with  surly  people  who  did  not  even 
know  how  to  refuse  politely.  But  as  workers 
enlisted  for  the  war,  they  were  to  be  ready 
to  bear  such  crosses,  always  endeavoring  to 
carry  on  their  work  on  strictly  business 
principles  ;  to  descend  to  no  urging  or 
unlady-like  pressure,  but  simply  to  courteously 
offer  their  goods  at  honest  prices ;  if,  after 
such  effort,  they  received  replies  that  were 
hard  to  bear,  they  must  just  bear  them  for 
the  sake  of  the  cause.  Thus  decreed  the 
heroic  leader;  adding,  by  way  of  emphasis, 
that  all  ways  of  earning  money  had  their 
unpleasant  side  she  supposed,  and  all  workers 
had  moments  in  which  their  work  could 
only  be  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a  cross. 
Would  those  girls  ever  know  what  a  cross 
it  had  been  to  her,  Claire  Benedict,  to  come 
to  South  Plains  and  teach  them  music? 


122  INTERRUPTED. 

This  part  she  thought.  Such  crosses  were 
not  to  be  brought  out  to  be  talked  about. 
Hers  was  connected  with  -such  a  heavy  one, 
that  it  'Would  bear  mentioning  only  to  Him 
who  "carried  her  sorrows." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OUTSIDE  THE   CIRCLE. 

WHY  are   not   the  Ansted  girls  included 
among  our  workers?" 

It  was  the  music-teacher  who  asked  this 
question,  as  she  waited  in  the  music-room 
for  recess  to  close,  and  her  work  to  begin. 
Around  the  stove  gathered  the  usual  group 
of  girls,  talking  eagerly.  An  absorbing  topic 
had  been  opened  before  them,  one  with 
unending  resources.  Ruth  Jennings  had  had 
unprecedented  success,  the  Saturday  before, 
disposing  of  pie-lifters.  She  was  detailing 
some  of  her  curious  experiences.  Also  she 
had  received  an  order  for  a  certain  kind  of 
egg-beater,  the  like  of  which  had  never  been 
seen  in  South  Plains.  She  had  duly  reported 
the  mysteriously-described  thing  to  MisS 

Benedict,    who    had    at    once    recognized    it, 
123 


124  INTERRUPTED. 

and  sent  her  order  out  by  the  morning 
mail — not  for  one,  but  two  dozen.  Why 
should  not  other  families  in  South  Plains 
beat  eggs  in  comfort  ?  It  was  strange  that 
she  had  not  thought  of  those  nice  little  egg- 
beaters. 

This  and  a  dozen  other  matters  of  inter 
est  were  being  repeated  and  discussed,  the 
lady  at  the  piano  being  constantly  appealed 
to  for  information,  or  to  confirm  some  sur 
prising  statement.  During  a  momentary  lull 
in  the  talk,  she  asked  her  question. 

Ruth    Jennings    answered : 

"Oh,  the  Ansted  girls!  Why,  Miss  Ben 
edict,  is  it  possible  that  you  have  not  dis 
covered  that  they  belong  to  a  higher  sphere  ? 
Dear  me!  They  have  nothing  to  do  with 
South  Plains,  except  to  tolerate  it  during  a 
few  months  of  the  summer  because  the  old 
homestead  is  here,  and  they  can't  very  well 
move  it  to  the  city.  They  live  in  that 
lovely  place  at  the  top  of  Curve  Hill.  You 
have  been  up  there,  haven't  you  ?  It  is  the 
only  really  lovely  spot  in  South  Plains.  In 
summer  their  grounds  are  just  elegant ! " 


OUTSIDE    THE    CIRCLE.  125 

Yes,  Miss  Benedict  had  been  in  that  di 
rection,  and  every  other.  She  rested  her 
self,  body  and  soul,  by  long,  brisk,  lonely 
walks.  She  had  noticed  the  place  and  won 
dered  over  it,  and  had  meant  to  ask  its 
history.  So  unlike  every  other  spot  in  the 
withered  village.  Great  broad  fields  stretch 
ing  into  the  distance  ;  handsome  iron  fence, 
with  massive  gate-posts,  guarded  by  fierce- 
looking  dogs  in  iron ;  a  trellised  arbor,  the 
outline  of  a  croquet-ground  ;  a  hint  of  wide- 
spreading,  carefully  kept  lawns,  showing 
between  patches  of  the  snow;  a  summer- 
house  that  in  the  season  of  vines  and  blos 
soms  must  be  lovely ;  a  circle  that  suggested 
an  artificial  pond,  centred  with  a  fountain, 
where  she  could  imagine  the  water  playing 
rainbows  with  the  sunshine  in  the  long 
summer  da}rs. 

And  in  short,  there  were  all  about  this 
place  very  unmistakable  tokens  of  the  sort  of 
refinement  which  is  only  to  be  secured  by 
a  full  purse  and  an  abundance  of  elegant 
leisure  on  the  part  of  some  one  whose  tastes 
are  cultured  to  the  highest  degree.  Shrouded 


126  ,       INTERRUPTED. 

in  the  snows  of  midwinter,  with  a  shut-up 
look  about  the  large,  old-fashioned,  roomy 
house,  kept  in  a  state  of  perfect  repair,  yet 
kept  carefully  for  what  it  was,  a  country 
home,  the  place  was  marked  and  exceptional. 

It  spoke  a  language  that  could  be  found 
nowhere  else,  in  the  village  or  out  of  it  for 
miles  around.  Miss  Benedict  had  looked 
upon  it  with  loving  eyes.  It  spoke  to  her 
of  the  world  from  which  she  had  con:e  away ; 
of  the  sort  of  life  which  had  always  hereto 
fore  been  hers.  It  did  riot  look  elegant  to 
her,  except  by  contrast  with  the  surround 
ing  shabbiness.  She  had  been  used  to  much 
greater  elegance.  It  simply  said  "home"  to 
her  sad  heart ;  and  only  the  Saturday  before, 
she  had  wondered  whose  home  it  was,  and 
why  she  never  saw  people  who  seemed  to 
match  it,  and  when  it  would  be  opened  again 
for  residence,  and  whether  she  should  ever 
get  a  chance  to  visit  that  lovely  greenhouse, 
all  aglow  even  now. 

It  came  to  her  as  a  surprise  that  it  really 
was  the  home  of  two  of  her  pupils. 

"Do     you     mean     that     the     Ansteds     liv« 


OUTSIDE    THE    CIRCLE.  I2/ 

there  ? "  she  questioned.  "  Where  is  the  fam 
ily  ?  and  why  are  the  girls  here  ? " 

"  Oh,  the  family  are  everywhere.  They 
scatter  in  the  winter  like  the  birds.  Go 
South,  you  know,  or  West,  or  wherever  suits 
their  royal  fancy.  They  have  no  home  but 
this,  because  they  can  not  make  up  their 
minds  where  to  settle  down  for  one,  so  they 
board  all  over  the  world.  Do  business  in 
the  city,  live  in  South  Plains,  and  stay  in 
Europe ;  that  is  about  their  history." 

"And  the  girls  remain  here  while  their 
parents  are  away  ? " 

"  Part  of  the  time,  yes'm.  Mrs  Ansted  was 
a  schoolmate  of  Mrs.  Foster,  I  have  heard, 
and  respects  her  very  highly,  and  would  pre 
fer  having  the  girls  with  her  to  sending 
them  anywhere  else.  Mr.  Ansted  is  a  mer 
chant  in  the  city.  In  the  summer  he  comes 
out  home  every  night,  and  some  of  them 
stay  in  town  with  him  a  great  deal.  It  is 
only  ten  miles  away,  you  know.  If  they  did 
not  charge  so  dreadfully  on  the  new  rail 
road,  we  might  get  a  chance  to  look  at  its 
splendors  once  in  a  while  ourselves;  but  the 


128  INTERRUPTED. 

Ansteds  don't  care  for  high  prices.  Mr. 
Ansted  is  one  of  the  directors,  and  I  sup 
pose  they  ride  for  nothing,  just  because  they 
could  afford  to  pay  eighty  cents  a  day  as 
well  as  not.  That  seems  to  be  the  way 
things  work." 

"But  the  family  attend  this  church,  of 
course,  while  they  are  here.  I  should  think 
the  girls  would  be  interested  to  join  us." 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am  ;  indeed,  they  don't.  They 
haven't  been  inside  the  church  six  times  in 
as  many  years.  They  go  to  town." 

"Not   to    church!" 

"  Yes'm  ;  they  do.  Every  pleasant  day  their 
carriage  rolls  by  our  house  about  half-past 
eight,  and  makes  me  feel  cross  and  envious 
all  day." 

"  But  do  you  really  mean  that  they  hab 
itually  go  ten  miles  to  church  each  Sabbath, 
when  there  is  one  right  at  their  doors  that 
they  might  attend  ?  What  denomination  are 
they  ?  " 

"  The  very  same  as  our  own,"  the  girl 
said,  laughing  over  Miss  Benedict's  aston 
ished  face. 


OUTSIDE   THE    CIRCLE. 


Then  the  gentle  Nettie  added  her  expla 
nation  : 

"Well,  but,  girls,  you  know  they  don't 
really  go  ten  miles.  There  is  an  elegant 
church,  Miss  Benedict,  just  about  seven,  or 
maybe  almost  eight,  miles  from  here.  It  was 
built  by  wealthy  people  who  live  out  there 
in  the  suburbs,  and  it  is  said  to  be  the 
prettiest  church  in  town,  and  the  Ansteds  go 
to  that." 

"  But  eight  miles  every  Sabbath,  and  re 
turn,  must  make  a  busy  and  wearying  day 
of  the  Sabbath,  I  should  think,  when  there 
is  no  occasion.  How  came  they  to  fall  into 
the  habit  of  going  so  far?" 

"  Why,  they  did  not  use  to  spend  their 
summers  here  ;  only  a  few  weeks  during 
August.  They  had  a  house  in  town  ,  and 
then  Mrs.  Ansted  was  sick,  and  the  doc 
tors  said  she  could  not  live  in  the  cit}r,  and 
they  had  a  little  delicate  baby,  who  they 
said  would  die  unless  they  kept  it  in  the 
country.  So,  they  sold  their  town  house, 
and  came  out  here  to  stay  until  they  de 
cided  what  to  do,  and  then  the  railroad  was 


130  INTERRUPTED. 

built,  and  Mr.  Ansted  found  it  easy  enough 
to  get  back  and  forth  to  his  business,  and 
the  baby  began  to  grow  strong,  and  they 
spent  a  great  deal  of  money  on  the  place, 
and  grew  to  liking  it,  and  they  just  stay  on. 
They  keep  rooms  in  town,  and  are  there  a 
great  deal,  but  they  really  live  in  South 
Plains." 

"  And    drive    to    church    every   Sabbath ! " 

"  Well,  every  Sabbath  when  it  is  pleasant. 
They  are  not  very  regular.  When  it  is  too 
warm  to  go,  they  lounge  under  the  trees, 
and  when  it  is  too  rainy  they  lounge  in 
their  handsome  house,  I  suppose.  At  any  rate, 
they  don't  appear  in  our  church.  We  don't 
see  much  more  of  them  when  they  are  at 
home  than  when  they  are  in  Europe,  only 
riding  by." 

"And  do  the  girls  like  to  be  here  at 
school  while  the  family  is  away  ? " 

"  Well,  that  is  a  new  thing,  you  see. 
Mrs.  Foster  has  only  been  here  since  Sep 
tember.  Before  that,  they  never  looked  at 
our  school ;  but  directly  they  heard  she  was 
coming,  the  Ansted  girls  came  in,  and  are 


OUTSIDE    THE    CIRCLE.  13! 

to  board  here  until  the  family  come  back 
from  Florida.  We  never  any  of  us  spoke  to 
Fannie  and  Ella  Ansted  in  our  lives  until 
they  appeared  here  in  October." 

Then    Mary    Burton    spoke : 

"And  we  shall  not  get  a  chance  to  speak 
with  their  highnesses  much  longer.  The  An- 
steds  are  coming  home  in  two  weeks.  Lilian, 
that's  the  baby,  has  had  a  low  fever,  and 
the  doctors  have  decided  that  she  needs  to 
come  home  and  get  braced  up,  and  the 
house  is  being  aired  for  their  coming.  Ella 
Ansted  told  me  this  morning.  She  says  she 
and  Fannie  will  only  be  here  at  recitations 
after  next  week  or  week  after.  She  doesn't 
know  just  when  the  folks  will  get  here , 
they  are  going  to  stop  in  New  York." 

"  Girls,"  said  the  music-teacher  in  her  mosv 
resolute  tone,  "  let  us  get  the  Ansted  girls 
into  our  circle,  and  set  them  at  work  for 
the  church." 

But  this  met  with  eager  demurs.  The 
Ansteds  held  themselves  aloof  from  South 
Plains.  They  never  made  calls  among  the 
people,  or  invited  them  to  their  home,  or 


132  INTERRUPTED. 

noticed  them  in  any  way.  They  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  the  poor  little  church ;  never 
came  to  the  prayer  meetings,  nor  to  the 
socials,  nor  in  any  way  indicated  that  they 
belonged  to  the  same  flesh  and  blood  as  the 
worshipers  there,  and  South  Plains  held  its 
head  too  high  and  thought  too  much  of 
itself  to  run  after  them.  The  girls  were  well 
enough,  Fannie  and  Ella,  and  they  had 
been  pleasant  to  them;  but  as  for  stooping 
to  coax  them  to  help,  they  did  not  feel  that 
they  could  do  it,  even  for  Miss  Benedict. 

"I  don't  want  3'ou  to  stoop,"  declared 
Miss  Benedict,  "  nor  to  coax.  I  want  you 
to  give  them  a  good  hearty  invitation  to 
join  us.  Poor  things !  I  am  just  as  sorry 
for-  them  as  I  can  be !  Eight  miles  away 
from  their  church  and  all  church  friends ; 
no  prayer  meeting  to  attend,  and  no  pastor 
to  interest  himself  in  all  they  do !  I  have 
wondered  why  those  girls  seemed  so  out  in 
the  cold.  I  begin  to  understand  it.  You 
think  you  have  been  cordial ;  but  you  have 
just  edged  out  a  little,  made  a  tiny  opening 
in  your  circle,  and  said  in  effect :  '  Oh,  you 


OUTSIDE   THE   CIRCLE.  1 33 

may  come  in,  if  you  will  crawl  in  there ! 
We  will  tolerate  you  while  you  are  here, 
if  you  won't  expect  too  much,  nor  ask  us 
to  invite  you  to  our  special  doings  of  any 
sort.  You  are  just  outsiders,  and  we  are 
not  going  to  stoop  to  you,  and  let  you  be 
one  with  us.'  ' 

The  girls  laughed  a  little,  but  Ruth  Jen 
nings  demurred.  Nobody  had  wanted  them 
to  stay  outside  ;  they  had  chosen  to  do  so. 
They  would  not  attend  the  church,  though 
the  trustees  had  invited  Mr.  Ansted,  and 
they  never  showed  in  any  way  an  interest 
in  South  Plains  or  its  people. 

Miss  Benedict   changed   her   tactics: 

"  Girls,  wait ;  let  me  ask  you,  are  Fannie 
and  Ella  Ansted  Christians?" 

"Not  that  I  ever  heard  of,"  Ruth  said, 
and  Mary  Burton  added  that  she  knew  they 
were  not;  that  one  day  when  they  were 
talking  about  such  things,  Ella  asked  the 
strangest  questions,  almost  as  though  she 
were  a  heathen ;  and  Fannie  did  not  seem 
to  know  much  better. 

"Well,   have   you   made    them    realize    that 


1 34  INTERRUPTED. 

you  young  people  belong  to  Christ,  and  that 
it  is  a  pleasant  way,  and  you  would  like 
to  have  them  join  it,  and  work  for  his 
cause?  Ruth,  my  dear,  do  they  know  that 
you  desire  to  have  them  happy  in  Christ, 
and  that  you  pray  for  this  every  day  ? " 

"  It  isn't  likely  they  do,  Miss  Benedict, 
for  it  isn't  true.  I  never  thought  about 
them  twice  in  my  life  in  that  connection, 
and  I  know  I  never  prayed  for  them." 

"  And  are  there  any  of  you  who  can  give 
a  better  record  than  that  ? "  She  looked 
around  upon  the  silenced  group,  and  waited 
in  vain  for  an  answer.  At  last  she  said, 
gently : 

"Now,  girls,  there  are  only  two  questions 
more  that  I  want  to  ask  you.  One  is : 
Which  is  it  that  stands  aloof,  and  makes 
no  effort  to  help  others,  you  or  the  Ansted 
girls,  if  you  know  Christ  and  they  do  not? 
And  the  other  is :  Will  you  all  agree  to 
invite  them  to  join  us,  and  do  it  heartily  ? " 

The  pealing  bell  cut  short  an  answer,  if 
one  had  been  intended.  Miss  Benedict  was 
glad.  She  wanted  no  answer  just  then ; 


OUTSIDE   THE    CIRCLE.  135 

she  had  planted  her  little  seed,  and  hoped 
that  it  would  take  root  and  grow. 

"  She  has  a  way  of  taking  things  for 
granted,"  said  one  of  the  group  which  moved 
out  of  the  music-room,  leaving  Nettie  to 
take  her  lesson.  "  How  does  she  know  that 
any  of  us  are  Christians?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Mary 
Burton  asked: 

"  Do  you  really  suppose  there  is  no  dif 
ference  between  us  and  others?  Can't  we 
be  told  in  any  way  ? " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how.  There 
hasn't  been  a  communion  service  since  she 
came  here,  and  we  don't  any  of  us  go  to 
prayer  meeting.  They  say  she  does.  Father 
said  she  sat  in  one  corner  of  that  dark  old 
church  the  other  night ;  the  first  woman 
there,  and  not  many  came  afterward." 

Said    Mary    Burton : 

"  I  wonder  what  it  means,  any  way,  to 
come  out  from  among  them  and  be  separate  ? 
I  came  across  that  verse  in  my  reading  the 
other  night,  and  I  wondered,  then,  just 
what  it  meant.  We  girls  are  certainly  not 


1 36  INTERRUPTED. 

any  more  '  separate '  since  we  joined  the 
church  than  we  were  before,  so  far  as  I 
know  j  and  yet  the  verse  some  way  made 
me  think  of  Miss  Benedict;  she  seems  dif 
ferent  from  other  Christians.  I  should  like 
to  know  just  what  made  the  difference?" 

"She  is  'gooder,'"  said  Ruth  Jennings, 
laughing  a  little,  "that  is  just  the  whole  of 
it ;  but  I  wish  she  hadn't  started  out  on 
this  idea  about  the  Ansteds.  They  won't 
join  us,  and  I  don't  want  to  feel  myself 
humiliated  by  asking  them." 

But  Nettie,  usually  easy  to  be  turned 
aside,  held  persistently  to  the  thought  which 
troubled  her. 

"I  know  she  is  'gooder,'  that  is  what 
I  say;  but  ought  not  we  to  be  the  same? 
Ought  the  boys  and  girls  with  whom,  we 
five  spend  so  much  time,  to  feel  that  we 
just  belong  to  their  set,  and  are  in  no  sense 
different  from  them  ?  We  are  all  the  church- 
members  there  are  among  the  young  people, 
you  know.  When  I  told  Mi"ss  Benedict  that 
the  other  day,  she  looked  astonished  for  a 
minute,  and  then  she  said :  '  You  dear  girls, 


OUTSIDE    THE    CIRCLE.  137 

what  a  work  you  have  to  do  ! '  But  I  don't 
feel  as  though  we  were  doing  it,  and  I,  for 
one,  don't  know  how;  but  I  wish  I  did." 
There  was  no  answer  to  that.  The  little 
seed  was  taking  root,  though  not  in  the  way 
that  the  planter  had  planned. 


CHAPTER  X. 

AN   OPEN  DOOR. 

THEREAFTER  Miss  Benedict  thought 
much  about  the  Austeds.  She  herself 
could  hardly  have  told  why  they  interested 
her  so  much,  though  she  attributed  it  to 
the  fact  that  the  surroundings  of  the  old 
house  spoke  to  her  of  home.  The  family  re 
turned  and  established  themselves  there,  and 
the  blinds  were  thrown  open,  and  through  the 
half-drawn  shades,  as  she  took  her  after- 
school  walks,  she  could  see  glimpses  of 
bright,  beautiful  life  inside ;  she  longed  to 
get  nearer,  and  saw  no  way  to  accomplish  it. 
The  Ansted  girls  had  been  invited  to  join 
the  workers.  Miss  Benedict's  influence  reached 
as  far  as  this,  though  that  lady  wished  she 
had  been  sure  that  the  invitation  had 

sounded   cordial    and    hearty.     But    they    had 
138 


Air  OPEN  DOOR.  139 

hesitated  and  hesitated,  and  proposed  to  talk 
with  mamma  about  it,  and  mamma  was  re 
ported  to  have  said  that  it  was  hardly  worth 
while;  they  were  such  entire  strangers  to 
the  church  and  the  people  that  of  course 
they  could  not  be  expected  to  have  the  in 
terest  in  it  which  others  had ;  and  the 
girls  had  tossed  their  heads  and  said  they 
knew  it  would  be  just  so,  they  were  sorry 
the}'  had  invited  them,  and  they  would  not 
be  caught  that  way  again,  not  even  for 
Miss  Benedict. 

Meantime,  Miss  Benedict  studied  the 
Ansteds  from  a  distance,  and  tried  to  un 
derstand  the  reasons  for  their  utter  isola 
tion  from  the  good  people  of  the  village. 
She  cultivated  the  friendship  of  the  two 
girls  who  were  her  pupils,  and  who,  now 
that  they  had  declined  the  invitation  to 
join  the  others,  were  more  shut  off  from 
them  than  before.  Miss  Benedict  took  care, 
however,  not  to  refer  to  this  episode  ;  there 
were  reasons  why  she  did  not  desire  to 
know  the  particulars.  But  she  made  herself 
as  winning  as  she  could  to  the  girls,  and 


I4O  INTERRUPTED. 

wondered  how  and  when  she  could  reach 
their  home. 

As  is  often  the  case,  the  way  opened  un 
expectedly. 

It  was  a  wintry  evening,  and  she,  having 
walked  further  than  she  had  intended,  was 
making  the  return  trip  with  all  speed,  lest 
the  darkness  fast  closing  on  the  village, 
should  envelop  her  before  she  reached  the 
academy. 

"How  foolish  I  was,"  she  told  herself,  "to 
go  so  far!  I  must  have  walked  two  miles, 
and  it  is  beginning  to  snow.  What  would 
mamma  think  to  see  me  on  the  dark  street 
alone  ?  " 

In  common  with  most  city-bred  ladies, 
accustomed  to  treading  the  brightly-lighted 
city  streets  with  indifference,  she  looked 
upon  the  darkness  and  silence  of  the  coun 
try  with  a  sort  of  terror,  and  was  making 
swift  strides,  not  pausing  even  to  get  the 
glimpse  of  "  home  "  which  shone  out  broadly 
across  the  snow  from  all  the  front  windows 
of  the  house  on  Curve  Hill. 

It     looked    very    home-like,    but     her    only 


AN    OPEN    DOOR.  14! 

home  was  that  plain,  little  upper  room,  at 
the  academy,  and  thither  she  must  go  with 
all  speed.  Underneath  the  freshly-falling 
snow  lay  a  treacherous  block  of  ice,  and  as 
the  hurrying  feet  touched  it,  they  slipped 
from  their  owner's  control,  and  she  was 
lying  a  limp  heap  at  the  foot  of  Curve 
Hill. 

No  use  to  try  to  rise  and  hasten  on.  A 
very  slight  effort  in  that  direction  told  her 
that  one  ankle  was  useless.  What  was  to  be 
done  ?  She  looked  up  and  down  the  street ; 
not  a  person  was  to  be  seen  in  either  direc 
tion.  Would  it  be  of  any  use  to  call  through 
this  rising  wind  for  assistance?  How  plainly 
she  could  see  the  forms  flitting  about  that 
bright  room  !  yet  they  might  as  well  be 
miles  away,  so  far  as  her  power  to  reach 
them  was  concerned.  She  made  a  second 
effort  to  rise,  and  fell  back  with  a  groan ; 
it  was  best  not  to  attempt  that  again,  or 
she  should  faint,  and  certainly  she  had 
need  of  her  senses  now.  If  only  one  of 
those  queer  looking  wood-sleighs,  over  which 
she  had  laughed  only  this  afternoon,  would 


142  INTERRUPTED. 

come  along  and  pick  her  up,  how  grateful 
she  would  be !  Somebody  else  was  coming 
to  pick  her  up. 

"What  have  we  here?"  said  a  brisk  voice, 
"  Fallen  humanity  ?  plenty  of  that  to  be 
found.  What  is  the  immediate  cause  ? " 
Then  in  a  lower  tone  :  "  I  believe  it  is  a  wo 
man  ! "  By  this  time  he  had  reached  her 
side,  a  young  man,  prepared  to  make  merry 
over  the  fallen  fortunes  of  some  child ;  so 
he  had  evidently  at  first  supposed. 

"I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  he  said,  and  even 
at  that  moment  he  waited  to  lift  his  hat, 
"did  you  fall?  Are  you  injured?  How  can 
I  best  help  yon?" 

Claire  Benedict  of  old  had  one  peculiarity 
which  had  often  vexed  her  more  nervous 
young  sister :  under  umbarrassing  or  trying 
circumstances  of  any  sort,  where  the  average 
young  woman  would  be  likely  to  cry,  she 
was  nearly  certain  to  laugh.  It  was  just 
what  she  did  at  this  moment. 

"  I  think  I  have  sprained  my  ankle,"  she 
said  between  her  laughs ;  "  at  least,  it  will 
not  allow  me  to  move  without  growing  faint, 


AN  OPEN  DOOR.  143 

so  I  am  keeping  still;  I  thought  I  needed 
my  senses  just  now.  If  you  can  think  of 
any  way  of  securing  a  wagon  of  some  sort 
in  which  I  can  ride  to  the  academy,  it  will 
help  me  materially." 

"  To  the  academy !  Why,  that  is  a  mile 
away !  You  must  take  a  shorter  ride  than  that 
for  the  first  one.  You  can  not  be  very  heavy, 
I  should  say.  Allow  me."  And  before  she 
understood  what  he  was  planning  sufficiently 
to  attempt  a  protest,  he  had  stooped  and  un 
ceremoniously  picked  her  up,  and  was  tak 
ing  swift  strides  across  the  snow-covered  lawn 
to  the  side  piazza  of  the  Ansted  house. 
The  gate  leading  to  the  carriage-drive  was 
thrown  open,  so  there  had  been  no  obstacle 
in  his  way. 

It  was  ridiculous  to  laugh  under  such  cir 
cumstances,  but  this  was  just  what  Claire 
did,  while  her  porter  threw  open  the  door, 
strode  through  the  wide  hall,  and  dropped 
her  among  the  cushions  of  a  luxurious  couch, 
in  one  of  the  bright  rooms. 

"  Here  is  a  maimed  lady,"  he  said.  "  Mam 
ma,  Alice,  where  are  some  of  you?" 


144  INTERRUPTED. 

"Oh,  Louis!"  said  a  familiar  voice,  "what's 
the  matter?  Did  you  run  over  her?  Why, 
Fannie,  it  is  Miss  Benedict  I  Mamma !  Louis, 
call  mamma,  quick ! " 

And  then  Claire  really  accomplished  what 
she  had  so  often  threatened,  and  fainted  en 
tirely  away. 

"  It  is  only  a  sprain,"  she  explained,  di 
rectly  her  eyes  were  open  again ;  "  I  was 
very  foolish  to  faint." 

A  pleasant,  motherly  face  was  bending 
over  her,  with  eyes  like  Ella  and  hair  like 
Fannie;  this  must  be  the  mother. 

"  Is  it  a  sprain,  do  you  think  ?  "  she  asked, 
"or  only  a  sort  of  twist?  Those  things  are 
sometimes  very  painful  for  awhile.  We  have 
sent  for  a  physician,  and  shall  soon  know 
what  to  do  for  you.  In  the  meantime, 
Fannie,  my  dear,  her  boot  should  be  re 
moved." 

Thus  reminded,  Fannie  bent  with  eager 
fingers  over  the  injured  member. 

"Did  you  fall,  Miss  Benedict?  Wasn't  it 
too  bad?  But  since  you  were  going  to  fall, 
I  am  glad  you  did  it  right  by  our  gate." 


AN   OPEN   DOOR.  143 

"  Mamma,  do  you  know  ?  This  is  our 
music-teacher." 

"  So  I  judged,  daughter.  We  are  sorry  to 
make  her  acquaintance  in  this  manner,  and 
glad  to  be  of  service.  Bring  another  pillow, 
Ella." 

It  was  all  gracefully  and  graciously  said. 
Mrs.  Ansted  was  not  a  woman  who  would 
have  thought  of  seeking  out,  and  calling  in 
a  friendly  way  on  her  daughter's  music- 
teacher ;  but  she  was  one  who,  when  that 
music-teacher  appeared  at  her  door  in  need 
of  assistance,  could  bestow  it  heartity  and 
delicately. 

"She  is  not  like  mamma  in  the  least  — 
oh,  not  in  any  particular  —  and  yet  I  think 
she  means  to  be  a  good  woman,  so  far  as 
she  sees  the  way  to  it  out  of  the  environ 
ments  of  her  world.  I  wonder  if  there  is 
any  way  in  which  I  am  to  help  her,  and  if 
this  is  a  beginning?" 

This  was  the  mental  comment  of  the  music- 
teacher,  who  was  supposed  to  be  absorbed  in 
her  own  troubles. 

It  all  arranged  itself  speedily  and  naturally. 


146  INTERRUPTED. 

The  doctor  came  and  pronounced  the  ankle 
badly  sprained,  advised  entire  quiet  for  a  few 
days,  heartily  seconded  Mrs.  Ansted's  sugges 
tion  that  the  prisoner  should  remain  with 
them,  and  when  Claire  faintly  demurred,  that 
lady  said,  decidedly : 

"  Wh}-,  of  course,  it  will  be  the  proper 
thing  to  do.  It  is  not  as  though  you  were 
at  home.  The  academy  is  at  best,  a  poor 
place  in  which  to  secure  quiet,  aud  there  is 
no  occasion  for  submitting  to  the  discomfort 
of  getting  there.  This  is  decidedly  the  place 
for  you.  Since  it  was  the  treacherous  ice 
on  our  walk  that  brought  you  to  grief,  you 
must  allow  us  to  make  what  amends  we 
can.  I  will  send  word  to  Mrs.  Foster  at 
once." 

Claire  yielded  gracefully ;  in  truth,  she  was 
rather  anxious  to  do  so.  She  was  interested 
in  the  Ansteds.  She  had  been  wondering  how 
she  could  make  their  acquaintance,  and  in 
terest  them  in  matters  that  she  believed  re 
quired  their  aid.  She  had  been  doing  more 
than  wondering.  Only  this  morning,  thinking 
of  the  subject,  as  she  locked  her  door  for 


AN  OPEN  DOOR.  147 

prayer,  she  had  carried  it  to  Christ,  and 
asked  him  for  opportunities,  if  indeed  he 
meant  that  she  was  to  work  in  this  direction. 
What  a  signal  opportunity!  Certainly  not  of 
her  planning.  She  must  take  care  how  she 
closed  the  door  on  it-  Behold  her,  then,  an 
hour  later,  domiciled  in  one  of  the  guest 
chambers  of  the  beautiful  old  home,  where 
every  touch  of  taste  and  refinement,  yes,  and 
luxury,  soothed  her  heart  like  a  breath  from 
home.  This  was  the  home  to  which  she  had 
heretofore  been  accustomed.  More  elegant 
her  own  had  been,  it  is  true,  but  the  same 
disregard  to  money  that  had  characterized 
the  belongings  of  her  father's  house  were 
apparent  here ;  everything  spoke  of  a  full 
purse  and  a  cultured  taste.  It  was  very 
foolish,  but  Claire  could  not  help  a  little 
sigh  of  satisfaction  over  the  delicacy  of  the 
curtains  and  the  fineness  of  the  bed  draperies. 
Had  she  realty  missed  things  of  that  sort  so 
much?  she  asked  herself.  Yes,  she  had! 
her  truthful  heart  responded.  She  liked  all 
soft  and  fair  and  pretty  things ;  but,  after 
all,  the  main  reason  for  their  soothing  influ- 


148  INTERRUPTED. 

ence    now   was    that   they   said   "  home "   and 
"  mother  "    to   her. 

Laid  aside  thus  suddenly  from  her  regular 
line  of  work,  the  morning  found  her,  dressed, 
and  lying  on  the  fawn-colored  couch  in  her 
pretty  room,  considering  what  there  was  to 
do  that  day.  She  had  al read}'  feasted  royally; 
the  delicate  breakfast  that  had  been  sent  up 
to  her  was  served  on  rare  old  china,  and 
accompanied  with  the  finest  of  damask  and 
the  brightest  of  solid  silver. 

They  commented  on  her  in  the  dining-room 
below  after  this  fashion : 

"Poor  creature,  I  suppose  she  thinks  she 
has  dropped  into  fairy-land.  She  looks  as 
though  she  could  appreciate  the  little  refine 
ments  of  life.  I  quite  enjoyed  sending  her 
that  quaint  old  cream  cup.  I  fancy  she  has 
taste  enough  to  admire  it."  This  from  the 
mother.  Then  Alice : 

"Mamma,  are  not  such  things  a  sort  of 
cruel  kindness?  Think  of  going  back  to  the 
thick  dishes  and  cheap  knives  of  the  academy 
after  being  served  in  state  for  a  few  days!" 

"  I    know,   dear ;    but  we  can  not  help  that 


AN   OPEN    DOOR. 


part.  She  will  probably  not  remain  long 
enough  to  get  spoiled.  She  is  really  quite 
interesting.  I  wonder  if  she  has  seen  better 
days  ?  " 

How  would  Claire  have  answered  this  ques 
tion  ?  "Fairyland?"  yes,  it  was  something 
of  that  to  her,  but  she  was  like  a  fairy  who 
had  been  astray  in  a  new  world,  and  had 
reached  home  again.  The  silver  might  be 
choice,  but  she  had  seen  as  choice,  and  the 
china  might  have  been  handed  down  for 
generations,  yet  the  style  of  it  and  the  feel 
of  it  were  quite  familiar  to  her.  Dainty  and 
delicate  things  had  been  every-day  matters  in 
her  father's  house.  "  Different  "  days  she  had 
seen,  oh,  very  different;  yet  this  young  girl, 
so  suddenly  stranded  on  what  looked  like  a 
rough  shore,  was  already  beginning  to  ques 
tion  whether,  after  all,  these  were  not  her 
"better  days."  Had  she  ever  before  leaned 
her  heart  on  Christ  as  she  was  learning  now 
to  do?  Busy  in  his  cause  she  had  always 
been,  eagerly  busy,  ever  since  she  could  re 
member;  but  she  began  to  have  a  dim  feel 
ing  that  it  was  one  thing  to  be  busy  in  his 


I5O  INTERRUPTED. 

cause,  and  quite  another  to  walk  with  him, 
saying,  as  a  child,  "  What  next  ?  "  and  tak 
ing  up  the  "  next "  with  a  happ}>-  unques 
tioning  as  to  the  right  of  it.  Something  of 
this  new  experience  was  beginning  to  steal 
over  her;  there  seemed  to  be  less  of  Claire 
Benedict  than  ever  before,  but  there  was  in 
her  place  one  who  was  growing  willing  to  be 
led,  and  Claire  already  felt  that  she  would 
not  be  willing  to  take  back  the  old  Claire 
Benedict;  she  was  growing  attached  to  this 
new  one. 

xjbfore  that  day  closed,  the  Ansteds  had  a 
revelation. 

It  was  Alice,  the  young  lady  daughter  of 
the  house,  who  had  come  up  to  show  Mrs. 
Foster  the  way,  and  who  lingered  and  chatted 
with  the  cheerful  young  prisoner  after  Mrs. 
Foster  had  taken  her  departure.  She  stooped 
for  Claire's  handkerchief,  which  had  dropped, 
and  said,  as  her  eye  fell  on  the  name : 

"I  know  of  a  young  lady  who  has  your 
full  name.  That  is  singular,  is  it  not?  The 
name  is  not  a  common  one." 

"Who    is    she?"    asked     Claire,   interested. 


AN    OPEN    DOOR.  15 1 

"Is  she  nice?  Shall  I  immediately  claim  re 
lationship?  ' 

"I  am  not  in  the  least  acquainted  with 
her,  though  I  fancy  from  what  I  have  heard 
that  she  may  be  very  '  nice.'  She  was  pointed 
out  to  me  once  at  a  concert  in  Boston,  by 
a  gentleman  who  had  some  acquaintance  with 
her.  She  is  the  daughter  of  Sidney  L.  Bene 
dict,  a  millionnaire.  I  suppose  you  do  not 
know  of  her,  though  she  is  a  namesake.  I 
heard  more  about  her  father  perhaps  than  I 
did  of  her.  Ever  so  many  people  seemed  to 
admire  him  as  a  wonderful  man ;  very  be 
nevolent,  you  know,  and  sort  of  hopelessly 
good,  he  seemed  to  me.  I  remember  telling 
my  brother  Louis  that  it  must  be  rather 
oppressive  to  have  such  a  reputation  for 
goodness  to  sustain.  Were  you  ever  in  Bos 
ton?" 

The  music-teacher  was  so  long  in  answer 
ing,  that  Miss  Alice  turned  toward  her 
questioningly,  and  found  that  the  eyes,  but 
a  moment  before  so  bright,  were  brimming 
with  tears. 

"  I    beg    your    pardon,"     she     said,    sympa- 


152  .          mTERROPTED. 

thetically,  "  does  your  ankle  pain  you  so  badly  ? 
Something  ought  to  be  done  for  it.  I  will 
call  mamma." 

But   Claire's   hand  detained  her. 

"  It  is  not  that,"  she  said  gently,  and 
smiled.  "  I  forgot  my  ankle,  and  where  I  was, 
and  everything.  He  was  a  good  man,  Miss 
Ansted ;  good  and  true  to  the  heart's  core, 
and  his  goodness  was  not  oppressive,  it  was 
his  joy.  He  has  gone  now  to  wear  his 
crown,  and  I  am  proud  to  be  his  daughter 
Claire.  But  oh,  there  are  times  when  the 
longing  to  see  him  rolls  over  me  so  that 
it  swallows  every  other  thought."  And  then 
the  poor  little  teacher  buried  her  head  ii: 
the  lace-trimmed  pillows  and  cried  outright ! 

"  Mamma,  what  do  you  think !  Louis,  can 
you  believe  it  possible  ?  She  is  one  of  the 
Boston  Benedicts !  A  daughter  of  that  Sid 
ney  L.  about  whom  we  heard  so  much  when 
we  were  with  the  Maitlands ! " 

"  I  heard  he  had  gone  to  smash ! "  said 
Louis,  when  the  first  astonishment  was  over, 
"but  I  thought  he  had  done  it  fashionably, 
and  provided  handsomely  for  his  family." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A   "FANATIC." 

I  DO  not  suppose  people  realize  how  much 
such  things  influence  them.  For  instance, 
Alice  Ansted  was  the  sort  of  girl  who  would 
have  been  ashamed  of  herself  had  she  real 
ized  how  much  more  important  a  person 
Claire  Benedict  was  to  her  as  soon  as  it 
became  known  that  she  belonged  to  the  Bos 
ton  Benedicts.  But  the  fact  was  very  appar 
ent  to  others,  if  not  to  Alice.  She  had  been 
very  glad,  before  this,  to  have  Miss  Bene 
dict  enjoy  the  comforts  of  the  house,  but 
now  she  hovered  about  her,  and  gave  her 
crumbs  of  personal  attention,  and  found  a 
fascination  in  hearing  her  talk,  and,  in  short, 
was  interested  in  her  to  a  degree  that  she 
could  never  have  been  simply  in  the  poor 
music-teacher. 

«S3 


154  INTERRUPTED. 

She  brought  her  work  one  morning,  and 
sat  by  the  luxurious  chair  where  Claire  had 
been  imprisoned,  with  her  injured  foot  skill 
fully  arranged  on  a  hassock. 

"  How  pretty  it  is,"  Claire  said,  watching 
the  crimson  silk  flowers  grow  on  the  canvas 
under  skillful  fingers;  "do  you  enjoy  working 
on  it?" 

The  tone  of  voice  which  answered  her  was 
dissatisfied  in  the  extreme : 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so ;  as  well  as  I  enjoy 
anything  that  there  is  to  do.  One  must  em 
ploy  one's  self  in  some  way,  and  we  live  such 
a  humdrum  life  here  that  there  is  chance 
for  very  little  variety.  I  am  puzzled  to  know 
how  you  manage  it,  Miss  Benedict ;  you  have 
been  accustomed  to  such  different  surround 
ings.  This  is  a  sharp  enough  contrast  to 
Chester.  Have  you  been  in  Chester  yet,  Miss 
Benedict  ?  Well,  it  is  just  a  nice  little  city ; 
hardly  large  enough  to  be  called  a  city. 
The  society  is  good,  and  there  is  always 
something  going  on,  and  when  I  come  out 
here  I  am  at  an  utter  loss  what  to  do  with 
myself.  But  then,  Chester  is  very  far  from 


A    "FANATIC.  155 

being  Boston,  and  if  I  had  had  the  advan 
tages  of  Boston  all  my  life,  as  you  have,  I 
feel  sure  I  could  not  endure  a  month  of  South 
Plains.  It  is  bad  enough  for  me.  How  do 
you  bear  it?" 

Claire  could  only  smile  in  answer  to  this. 
There  were  circumstances  connected  with  her 
removal  from  Boston  which  were  too  keenly 
felt  to  touch  with  a  careless  hand.  She 
hastened  to  ask  questions. 

"  What  is  there  pleasant  in  Chester  ?  I 
have  promised  myself  to  go  there  some 
Saturday,  and  see  what  I  can  find  in  the 
library." 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  very  fair  library  there,  I 
believe,  for  a  town  of  its  size,  but  I  never 
patronize  it ;  we  have  books  enough.  By 
the  way,  Miss  Benedict,  you  are  welcome  to 
the  use  of  our  library.  Papa  will  be  glad 
to  have  some  one  enjoying  the  books.  The 
girls  have  as  much  as  they  can  endure  of 
books  in  school,  and  Louis  is  not  literary  in 
his  tastes ;  I  am  almost  the  only  reader. 
Mamma  is  so  busy  with  various  city  benev 
olences  that,  what  with  her  housekeeping  and 


156  INTERRUPTED. 

social  cares,  she  rarely  has  time  for  much 
reading.  Oh,  Chester  is  well  enough.  There 
are  concerts,  you  know,  and  lectures,  or  en 
tertainments  of  some  sort ;  one  can  keep 
busy  there,  if  one  accepts  invitations.  But, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  the  whole  thing  often 
bores  me  beyond  endurance,  and  I  am  glad 
to  get  out  here  to  be  away  from  it  all.  I 
don't  like  my  life.  I  think  I  have  talents 
for  something  better,  if  one  could  only  find 
what  it  is — the  something  better,  I  mean." 

There  was  a  pretty  flush  on  her  discon 
tented  face  as  she  looked  up  eagerly  to  see 
how  this  confidence  was  being  received.  Claire's 
face  was  gently  sympathetic,  and  grave.  Alice 
took  courage. 

"Mamma  laughs  at  me,  and  says  I  am 
visionary,  and  that  I  want  to  have  a  career, 
and  that  I  must  be  content  to  fill  my  sphere 
in  life,  as  my  ancestors  have  done  before 
me ;  but  really  I  am  not  content.  I  don't 
like  the  sort  of  life  spread  out  before  me 
for  generations  back ;  marrying,  you  know, 
and  keeping  up  a  handsome  house,  and  re 
ceiving  and  paying  visits,  and  giving  a  grand 


A  "FANATIC.  157 

party  once  a  year,  when  you  are  sure  to 
offend  somebody  to  whom  you  were  indebted 
in  some  way,  and  whom  you  forgot.  Now, 
do  you  see  any  particular  enjoyment  in  that 
sort  of  thing?" 

"  No,"  said  Claire  unhesitatingly,  "  I  do 
not." 

"  I'm  real  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Mam 
ma  thinks  it  is  dreadful  to  be  discontented 
with  one's  lot  ;  but  I  am.  I  would  like  a 
career  of  some  sort ;  anything  that  would 
absorb  me.  And  yet  I  don't  want  to  be 
poor.  I  should  shrink  from  that.  Do  you 
really  find  it  easier  to  get  along  with  life, 
now  that  you  have  not  time  to  think,  as 
you  used  ?  " 

Another  question  to  be  gently  put  aside. 
What  did  Vthis  girl  know  of  the  charmeJ 
life  which  she  had  lived  at  home,  and  of 
the  father  who  had  been  its  centre  ?  She 
could  not  go  into  the  depths  of  her  heart 
and  drag  out  its  memories,  unless  there  were 
a  very  grave  reason  for  so  doing. 

"  I  have  always  lived  a  very  busy  life," 
she  answered,  evasively ;  "  but  before  I  can 


158  INTERRUPTED. 

help  you  with  any  of  ray  experiences,  I 
must  ask  one  question :  Are  you  not  a  Chris 
tian,  Miss  Ansted  ?  " 

Apparently  it  was  an  amazing  question  to 
the  young  girl.  Her  cheeks  took  a  deeper 
flush;  she  let  her  canvas  half  drop  from 
her  hand,  and  fixed  inquiring  eyes  on  her 
questioner. 

"  Why,  yes ;  that  is,  I  suppose  I  am,  or 
hope  I  am,  or  something ;  I  am  a  member 
of  the  church,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  It  is  not  in  the  least  what  I  mean. 
That  is  only  the  outward  sign  —  worthless,  if 
it  is  not  indeed  a  sign  of  union  with  Christ. 
Such  a  union  as  furnishes  a  career,  Miss 
Ansted,  which  alone  is  worthy  of  you.  Such 
a  union  as  carries  you  captive  —  making  your 
time  and  your  money,  and  your^  talents,  not 
your  own,  but  his.  There  is  nothing  dis 
satisfying  about  such  a  life,  my  friend.  It 
almost  lifts  one  above  the  accident  of  out 
ward  surroundings." 

There  was  an  undoubted  amazement  ex 
pressed  on  Miss  Ansted's  face  now. 

"  I    don't    in    the    least    understand    you," 


A  "FANATIC.  159 

she  said.  "  What  has  my  being  a  member 
of  the  church  to  do  with  all  this  time  which 
lies  on  my  hands  just  now,  I  should  like  to 
know.  If  you  me'an  mission  bands  and  be 
nevolent  societies,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
my  tastes  don't  lie  in  that  direction,  in  the 
least.  Mamma  does  enough  of  that  for  the 
entire  .  family ;  she  always  has  some  poky 
board  meeting  to  attend.  I  have  sat  shiver 
ing  in  the  carriage,  and  waited  for  her  last 
words  so  many  times,  that  I  am  utterly  sick 
of  the  whole  thing.  Oh,  I  am  a  member, 
of  course,  and  give  money ;  that  is  all  they 
want.  But  you  are  mistaken  in  supposing 
that  these  things  help  me  in  the  least." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Claire  said,  unable  to 
help  smiling  over  the  darkness  which  had  so 
misunderstood  and  misinterpreted  Christian 
work,  and  yet  feeling  that  it  called  for  tears 
rather  than  smiles ;  "  these  things  are  only 
more  of  the  'outward  signs.'' 

They  were  interrupted  then,  and  Claire 
was  not  sorry.  She  wanted  to  think  over 
her  ground.  There  was  no  use  in  casting 
these  pearls  of  truth  before  Alice  Ansted , 


l6o  INTERRUPTEB. 

she  was  too  utterly  in  the  dark  to  see  them. 
A  young  lady  she  was,  well  educated,  in  the 
common  acceptation  of  that  term,  accom 
plished,  so  far  as  music*  and  French  were 
concerned,  skillful  as  regards  embroidery  and 
worsted  work ;  but  evidently  the  veriest  child 
as  regarded  the  Christian  life,  though  she 
had  been  a  member  of  the  visible  church 
for  years.  If  she  were  to  be  helped  at  all, 
Claire  must  come  down  from  the  heights 
where  she  walked  and  meet  her  on  some 
common  ground. 

"I  wonder  how  the  old  church  would  do?" 
she  asked  herself.  "  I  wish  I  could  get  her 
interested  in  it,  both  for  her  sake  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  church." 

Had  she  heard  the  report  given  below  of 
this  brief  conversation,  she  might  have  been 
discouraged,  for  she  was  but  a  young  worker 
after  all,  and  had  not  met  with  many  re 
buffs. 

"  Mamma,  she  is  a  regular  little  fanatic," 
so  Alice  affirmed.  "  You  ought  to  have 
heard  her  talk  to  me  !  It  sounded  just  like 
quotations  from  that  old  book  of  sermons 


A  "FANATIC."  161 

that  grandma  used  to  pore  over.  I  didn't 
know  what  she  meant." 

"  Probably  she  did  not  either,"  was  the 
comment  of  this  Christian  mother.  "Some 
very  young  people  occasionally  fall  into  that 
style,  talking  heroics,  using  theological  terms 
of  which  they  can  not  grasp  the  meaning, 
and  fancy  it  a  higher  type  of  religion.  She 
will  probably  know  both  less  and  more  as 
she  grows  older." 

Then  was  Miss  Benedict's  pupil,  Ella,  em 
boldened  to  come  to  the  rescue  of  her 
teacher's  reputation : 

"  But,  mamma,  she  is  not  so  very  young. 
I  saw  her  birthday  book,  and  the  date  made 
her  twenty  in  September." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Ansted,  with  amused 
smile,  "that  is  quite  a  patriarchal  age.  She 
certainly  ought  to  be  well  posted  in  all 
theological  dogmas  by  this  time.  My  dear, 
it  is  one  of  the  worst  ages  for  a  young 
woman  —  if  she  isn't  absorbed  with  an  en 
gagement  by  that  time  to  fancy  herself  su 
perior." 

"  Oh,  mamma !   you   don't  know  Miss  Bene- 


1 62  INTERRUPTED. 

diet.  She  doesn't  fancy  herself  superior  to 
anybody.  She  is  just  as  sweet  and  lovely 
as  she  can  be.  All  the  girls  like  her,  and 
I  think  she  has  the  nicest  religion  of  any 
body  I  know ! "  This  outburst  was  from 
Fannie. 

"Very  well,  dear,"  answered  the  mother 
complacently;  "admire  her  as  much  as  you 
like.  She  is  quite  as  safe  a  shrine  as  any 
for  a  young  girl  like  you  to  worship  at. 
You  must  always  have  some  one.  I  am 
glad  the  girls  like  her,  poor  thing ;  her  life 
must  be  doleful  enough  at  best.  It  is  cer 
tainly  a  great  change."  And  the  benevolent 
mother  sighed  in  sympathy.  She  was  glad 
to  be  able  to  put  what  she  thought  was  a 
little  sunshine  from  her  elegant  home  into 
the  poor  music-teacher's  lot.  She  even  won 
dered,  as  she  waited  for  her  carriage  to  drive 
down  town,  whether  the  sprained  ankle  were 
not  a  providential  arrangement  to  enable  her 
to  give  a  few  days  of  rest  and  luxury  to 
this  unfortunate  girl. 

This  thought  she  kept  quite  to  herself. 
She  did  not  quite  accept  such  strained  and 


A  "FANATIC."  163 

peculiar  views  of  Providence.  It  savored  a 
little  of  fanaticism  —  a  thing  which  she 
disapproved,  and  Mr.  Ansted  disliked;  but 
then,  some  people  thought  such  things,  and 
it  was  barely  possible  that  they  were  some 
times  correct. 

She  went  out  to  her  carriage  still  think 
ing  these  thoughts,  and  Claire,  watching 
her  from  the  upper  window,  said  to  herself: 

"  I  wonder  if  I  can  help  her  ?  I  wonder 
if  God  means  me  to?  Of  course,  I  am  set 
down  here  for  something."  She  had  no 
doubt  at  all  about  the  providence  in  it. 

The  son  of  the  house  had  added  one 
sentence  to  the  family  discussion : 

"  You  might  have  known  that  she  would 
be  a  fanatic,  after  you  found  that  she  was 
Sydney  Benedict's  daughter.  He  was  the 
wildest  kind  of  a  visionary.  Porter  was 
talking  about  him  to-day.  He  knew  them 
in  Boston.  He  says  Benedict  gave  away 
enough  every  year  to  support  his  family  in 
splendid  style.  They  are  reaping  the  results 
of  his  extravagance." 

This    is    only   one    of    the    many   different 


164  INTERRUPTED. 

ways   which   there    are    of    looking   at    things. 

Nevertheless  the  fair  fanatic  seemed  to  be 
an  attractive  object  to  the  entire  family. 
Louis,  not  hitherto  particularly  fond  of 
evenings  at  home,  found  himself  lingering 
in  the  up-stairs  library,  whither  he  had 
himself  wheeled  the  large  chair  with  the 
patient  seated  therein.  As  the  days  passed, 
she  persisted  in  making  herself  useful,  and 
Ella  and  Fannie,  under  her  daily  tuition, 
were  making  very  marked  progress  in  music, 
as  well  as  in  some  other  things  that  their 
mother  did  not  understand  about  so  well. 
It  was  on  one  of  these  cosey  evenings  that 
Louis  occupied  the  piano-stool,  he  and  Alice 
having  been  performing  snatches  of  favorite 
duets,  until  Alice  was  summoned  to  the 
parlors. 

"  Come  down,  won't  you,  Louis  ?  that  is 
a  good  boy.  It  is  the  Powell  girls,  and 
Dick  will  be  with  them,  I  presume."  This 
had  been  Alice's  petition  just  as  she  was 
leaving  the  room. 

But  Louis  had  elevated  both  eyebrows  and 
shoulders. 


A    "FANATIC."  165 

"The  Powell  girls!"  he  repeated.  "Not 
if  this  individual  knows  himself !  I  never 
inflict  myself  on  the  Powell  girls,  if  there 
is  any  possibility  of  avoiding  it;  and  as  for 
Dick,  I  would  go  a  square  out  of  my  way 
any  time,  to  save  boring  him.  Excuse  me, 
please,  Alice ;  I  am  not  at  home,  or  I  am 
at  home,  and  indisposed — just  as  you 
please ;  the  latter  has  the  merit  of  truth. 
It  is  my  duty  to  stay  here  and  entertain 
Miss  Benedict,  since  the  girls  have  deserted 
her. 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  you  would  excuse 
me  with  pleasure,  but  nevertheless  I  con 
sider  it  my  duty  to  stay ! "  This  last  was 
merrily  added,  just  as  Alice  closed  the  door. 

Claire  did  not  wait  to  reply  to  the  ban 
ter,  but  plunged  at  once  into  the  centre  of 
the  thought  which  had  been  growing  on  her 
for  several  days. 

"Mr.  Ansted,  do  you  know,  I  wish  I  could 
enlist  both  you  and  your  sisters  as  helpers 
in  the  renovation  of  the  old  church  down 
town?" 

"What!     the    old    brick    rookery    on     the 


1 66  INTERRUPTED. 

corner?  My  dear  young  ladj-,  your  faith  is 
sublime,  and  your  knowledge  of  this  precious 
village  limited!  That  concern  was  past  reno 
vating  some  years  before  the  flood.  It  was 
about  that  time,  or  a  little  later,  that  my 
respected  grandfather  tried  to  remodel  the 
seats,  and  raised  such  a  storm  of  indignation 
about  his  ears  that  it  took  a  century  to 
calm  the  people  down ;  so  tradition  saj's. 
Whatever  you  undertake  to  do  will  be  a 
failure  ;  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  inform  you  of  so 
much.  And  now  I  am  burning  with  a  desire 
to  ask  a  rude  question:  Why  do  you  care 
to  do  anj'thing  with  it?  Why  does  it  in 
terest  you  in  the  least?  I  beg  your  pardon 
if  I  am  meddling  with  what  does  not  con 
cern  me,  but  I  was  amused  over  the  affair 
when  the  girls  came  home  and  petitioned  to 
join  the  charmed  circle.  Why  a  lady  who 
was  here  but  for  a  passing  season  or  so,  should 
interest  herself  in  the  old  horror,  was  beyond 
my  comprehension.  Is  it  strictly  benevolence, 
may  I  ask?" 

"  I   don't   think  it  is  benevolence  at  all.     It 
is   a   plain-faced   duty." 


A    "FANATIC."  167 

"  Duty  !  "  The  heavy  eyebrows  were  raised 
again.  "I  don't  comprehend  you.  Why  should 
a  stranger  to  this  miserable,  little,  squeezed- 
up  village,  and  one  who  by  all  the  laws  of 
association  and  affinity  will  surely  not  spend 
much  of  her  time  here,  have  any  duties  con 
nected  with  that  old  box,  which  the  church 
fathers  have  allowed  to  run  into  desolation 
and  disgrace  for  so  many  years,  that  the 

% 

present   generation  accepts   it  as   a   matter   of 
course  ?  " 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you  one  ques' 
tion,  Mr.  Austed?  Are  you  a  Christian?" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

LOGIC   AND   LABOR. 

THE  young  man  thus  addressed  gave 
over  fingering  the  piano-keys,  as  he  had 
been  softly  doing  from  time  to  time,  whirled 
about  on  the  music-stool,  and  indulged  in  a 
prolonged  and  curious  stare  at  his  questioner. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  at  last,  with 
a  little  laugh,  as  he  recognized  the  rudeness 
of  the  proceeding ;  "  I  am  struck  dumb,  I 
think.  In  all  my  previous  extended  experi 
ence  no  more  astonishing  query  has  ever 
been  put  to  me.  I  don't  know  how  to  take 
it." 

"  Won't  you   simply   answer  it  ?  " 
"  Why,   it    is    too    astonishing    to   me    that 
the    thing   requires    an    answer!      I    don't   be 
lieve   I   even   know  what  it  is  to   be  the  sort 

of  character   to  which   you   refer." 
168 


LOGIC    AND    LABOR.  169 

"Then,  am  I  to  understand  that  you  don't 
know  but  you  may  be  one?" 

The  young  man  laughed  again,  a  slightly 
embarrassed  laugh,  and  gave  his  visitor  a 
swift,  penetrating  glance,  as  if  he  would 
like  to  know  whether  she  was  playing  a 
part ;  then  finding  that  she  waited,  he  said  : 

"  Oh,  not  at  all !  In  fact,  I  may  say  I 
am  very  certain  that  I  don't  belong  to  the 
class  in  question,  even  in  name." 

"  May   I  ask   you   why  ? " 

"  Why ! "  He  repeated  the  word.  There 
was  something  very  bewildering  and  embar 
rassing  about  these  short,  direct,  simply-put 
questions.  He  had  never  heard  them  before. 
"  Really,  that  is  harder  to  answer  than  the 
first.  What  is  it  to  be  a  Christian,  Miss 
Benedict?" 

"  It  is  to  love  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  with 
a  love  that  places  his  honor  and  his  cause 
and  his  commands  first,  and  all  else  sec 
ondary." 

"Who   does   it?" 

"  He  knows.  Perhaps  there  are  many.  Why 
are  not  you  one  ?  " 


I/O  INTERRUPTED. 

He  dropped  his  eyes  now,  but  answered 
lightly : 

"  Hard  to  tell.  I  have  never  given  the 
matter  sufficiently  serious  thought  to  be  able 
to  witness  in  the  case." 

"  But  is  that  reply  worthy  of  a  reasoning 
be'ing?  Won't  you  be  frank  about  the  mat 
ter,  Mr.  Ansted  ?  I  don't  mean  to  preach, 
and  I  did  not  intend  to  be  offensively  per 
sonal.  I  was  thinking  this  afternoon  how 
strange  it  was  that  so  many  well-educated, 
reasoning  young  men  left  this  subject  outside, 
and  were  apparently  indifferent  to  it,  thougli 
they  professed  to  believe  in  the  story  of  the 
Bible ;  and  I  wondered  why  it  was :  what 
process  of  reasoning  brought  them  to  such  a 
position.  Will  you  tell  me  about  it?  How 
do  young  men,  who  are  intelligent,  who  ac 
cept  the  Bible  as  a  standard  of  morals  by 
which  the  world  ought  to  be  governed,  who 
respect  the  church  and  think  it  ought  to  be 
supported,  reason  about  their  individual  posi^ 
tions  as  outsiders?  They  do  not.  stand  out 
side  of  political  questions  where  they  have 
a  settled  opinion;  why  do  they  in  this?" 


LOGIC    AND    LABOR.  171 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  at  last. 
"  The  majority  of  them,  perhaps,  never  give 
it  a  thought;  with  others  the  claims  which 
the  church  makes  are  too  squarely  in  con 
tact  with  pre-arranged  plans  of  life ;  and 
none  of  them  more  than  half  believe  in  re 
ligion  as  exhibited  in  the  every-day  lives 
about  them." 

"  Have  you  given  me  your  reason  for  be 
ing  outside,  Mr.  Ansted?" 

"  Why,  yes,  I  suppose  so ;  that  is,  so  far 
as  I  can  be  said  to  have  a  reason.  I  don't 
reason  about  these  matters." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  which  one  of  the  three 
reasons  you  gave  is  yours  ? " 

"Were  you  educated  for  the  bar,  Miss 
Benedict  ?  Since  you  press  me,  I  must  say 
that  a  mixture  of  all  three  might  be  found 
revolving  about  my  inner  consciousness.  I 
rarely  trouble  myself  with  the  subject.  That 
is  foolish.  I  suppose  ;  but  it  is  really  no 
more  foolish  than  I  am  about  many  things. 
Then  so  far  as  I  may  be  said  to  have  plans, 
what  little  I  know  of  the  Bible  is  dread 
fully  opposed  to  the  most  of  them,  and,  well, 


1/2  INTERRUPTED. 

i  don't  more  than  one  third  believe  in  anj 
of  the  professions  which  are  being  lived 
about  me." 

"But   you   believe  in    the   Bible?" 

"Oh,  I  believe  it  is  a  fine  old  book,  which 
has  some  grand  reading  in  it,  and  some  that 
is  very  dull,  and  I  know  as  little  about  it 
as  the  majority  of  men  and  women." 

"  Oh,  then  let  me  put  the  question  a  lit 
tle  differently:  Do  you  believe  in  Jesus 
Christ?" 

"  Believe   in  him  !  " 

"  Yes,  as  one  who  once  lived  in  person  on 
this  earth,  and  died  on  a  cross,  and  went 
back  to  heaven,  and  is  to  come  again  at 
some  future  time?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  have  no  particular  reason  for 
doubting  prophecy  or  history  on  those  points. 
I'm  rather  inclined  to  think  the  whole  story 
is  true." 

"  Do  you  think  his  character  worthy  of 
admiration  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course ;  it  is  a  remarkable 
character.  Even  infidels  concede  that,  you 
know ;  and  I  am  no  infidel.  Bob  Ingersoll 


LOGIC    AND    LABOR.  1/3 

and  his  follies  have  no  charm  for  me.  I 
have  had  that  disease,  Miss  Benedict ;  like 
the  measles  and  whooping-cough,  it  belongs 
to  a  certain  period  of  life,  you  know,  and  I 
am  past  that.  I  had  it  in  a  very  mild  form, 
however,  and  it  left  no  trace.  The  fellow's 
logic  has  nothing  to  stand  on." 

She  ignored  the  entire  sentence,  save  the 
first  two  words.  She  had  not  the  slightest 
desire  to  talk  about  Bob  Ingersoll,  or  to  let 
this  gay  young  man  explain  some  of  Bob's 
weak  mistakes,  and  laugh  with  her  over  his 
want  of  historic  knowledge.  She  went  straight 
to  the  centre  of  the  subject: 

"  Then,  Mr  Ansted,  won't  you  join  his 
army,  and  come  over  and  help  us  ? " 

Nothing  had  ever  struck  the  brilliant  young 
.  man  as  being  more  embarrassing  than  this 
simple  question,  with  a  pair  of  earnest  eyes 
waiting  for  his  answer.  It  would  not  do  to 
be  merrily  stupid  and  pretend  to  misunder 
stand  her  question,  as  he  at  first  meditated, 
and  ask  her  whether  she  really  wanted  him 
to  join  Ingersoll's  army.  Her  grave  eyes 
were  fixed  on  his  face  too  searchingly  for 


1/4  INTERRUPTED. 

that.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  flit 
behind  one  of  his  flimsy  reasons : 

"  Really,  Miss  Benedict,  there  are  already 
enough  recruits  of  the  sort  that  I  should 
make.  When  I  find  a  Christian  man  whom 
I  can  admire  with  all  my  heart  —  instead  of 
seeing  things  in  him  every  day  that  even  I, 
with  my  limited  knowledge,  know  to  be  con 
trary  to  his  orders — I  may  perhaps  give  the 
matter  consideration,  but,  in  my  opinion, 
the  army  is  too  large  now." 

"  But  you  told  me  you  admired  Jesus 
Christ.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  be  like  any 
other  person  —  to  act  in  any  sense  like  any 
other  person  whom  you  ever  saw  or  of  whom 
you  ever  heard.  Will  you  copy  him,  Mr. 
Ansted?" 

There  was  no  help  for  it;  there  must  be  a 
direct  answer ;  she  was  waiting. 

"I  do  not  suppose  I  will."  This  was  his 
reply,  but  the  air  of  gayety  with  which  he 
had  been  speaking  was  gone.  You  might 
almost  have  imagined  that  he  was  ashamed 
of  the  words. 

"  Won't   you   please   tell   me    why  ?  " 


LOGtC   AND    LABOR.  175 

Was  there  ever  a  man  under  such  a  di 
rect  fire  of  personal  questions  hard  to  an 
swer?  Banter  would  not  do.  There  was 
something  in  the  face  and  voice  of  the 
questioner  which  made  him  feel  that  it  would 
be  a  personal  insult  to  reply  other  than 
seriously. 

"  There  are  insurmountable  difficulties  in 
the  way,"  he  said  at  last,  speaking  in  a  low, 
grave  tone. 

"Difficulties  too  hard  for  God  to  surmount? 
You  can  not  mean  that?" 

But  he  did  not  explain  what  he  meant, 
and  at  that  moment  he  received  a  perempt 
ory  summons  from  his  mother  to  the  parlor. 
He  arose  at  once,  glad,  apparently,  of  the 
interruption,  but  did  not  attempt  to  return 
to  the  free  and  easy  tone  with  which  he  had 
carried  on  part  of  the  conversation,  but 
bade  her  a  grave  and  respectful  good-night. 

Left  alone,  poor  Claire  could  only  sigh  in 
a  disappointed  way ;  as  usual,  she  had  not 
said  the  words  she  meant  to  say,  and  she 
could  but  feel  that  she  had  accomplished 
nothing.  It  had  been  her  father's  motto  to 


I  ?6  INTERRUPTED. 

spend  no  time  alone  with  a  human  being 
without  learning  whether  he  belonged  to  the 
army ;  and  if  not,  making  an  effort  to  se 
cure  his  enlistment.  Claire,  looking  on,  had 
known  more  than  one  young  man,  and  mid 
dle-aged  man,  and  not  a  few  children,  who 
had  reported  in  after  days  that  a  word  from 
her  father  had  been  their  starting-point. 
Sadly,  she  mourned,  oftentimes,  because  she 
had  not  her  father's  tact  and  judgment.  It 
had  seemed  to  her  that  this  young  man, 
with  his  handsome  face  and  his  handsome 
fortune,  ought  to  be  won  for  Christ.  Why 
did  not  his  mother  win  him,  or  his  sister  ? 
Why  did  not  she  ?  She  could  but  try ;  so 
she  tried,  and  apparently  had  failed;  and 
she  was  still  so  young  a  worker  that  she 
sighed,  and  felt  discouraged,  instead  of  being 
willing  to  drop  the  seed,  and  leave  the  re 
sults  with  God.  She  belonged  to  that  great 
company  of  seed-sowers  who  are  very  anxious 
to  see  the  mysterious  processes  that  go  on 
underground,  with  which  they  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do. 

The    next    day    Claire    went    back    to    the 


Academy.  Her  twisted  ankle  was  still  to 
be  petted  and  nursed,  and  the  piano  had  to 
move  from  the  music-room  to  a  vacant  one 
next  to  Claire's  own,  and  the  chapel  and 
dining-room  did  without  her  for  a  while, 
but  the  work  of  the  day  was  resumed,  and 
went  steadily  forward. 

It  was  not  without  earnest  protest  that 
she  left  the  home  which  had  opened  so 
royally  to  receive  her;  and  it  is  safe  to  say 
that  every  member  of  the  family  missed 
her ,  none  more  than  Alice,  who  had  found 
a  relief  in  her  conversations  from  the  ennui 
and  unrest  which  possessed  her.  Louis,  too, 
had  added  his  entreaties  that  the  burdens  of 
life  at  the  Academy  should  not  be  assumed 
so  soon,  and  evidently  missed  something 
from  the  home  after  her  departure.  It  was 
when  he  was  helping  her  to  the  sleigh  that 
he  said : 

"  You  did  not  answer  my  question  about 
the  old  church  and  your  interest  in  it ;  may 
I  call  some  evening,  and  get  my  answer?" 

"  We  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  at  the 
Academy,"  she  had  replied,  cordially,  "but  I 


1/8  INTERRUPTED. 

can  answer  your  question  now.  It  is  because 
it  is  the  church  of  Christ,  and  it  is  my 
duty  to  do  for  it  in  every  way  all  that  I 
can." 

"  But,"  he  said,  puzzled,  "  how  is  it  that 
the  church  fathers,  and,  for  that  matter,  the 
church  mothers,  have  let  it  get  into  such  a 
wretched  state  of  repair  ?  Why  haven't  they 
a  duty  concerning  it,  rather  than  a  stranger 
in  their  midst?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that  they  had  not ;  but 
they  don't  have  to  report  to  me ;  the  Head 
of  the  Church  will  see  to  that." 

Then  Dennis,  the  Academy  man-of-all-work, 
had  taken  the  reins,  while  Louis  was  in  the 
act  of  tucking  the  robes  more  carefully  about 
her,  and  driven  rapidly  away. 

"It  is  queer  how  things  work,"  Ruth  Jen 
nings  said,  as  a  party  of  the  girls  gathered 
around  their  teacher  to  report  progress. 
"There  are  a  dozen  things  that  have  had  to 
lie  idle,  waiting  for  you.  Why  do  you  sup 
pose  we  had  to  be  interrupted  in  our  plans, 
and  almost  stand  still  and  do  nothing,  while 
you  lay  on  a  couch  with  a  sprained  ankle  ? 


LOGIC    AND    LABOR.  1 79 

I'm  sure  we  were  doing  nice  things  and 
right  things,  and  we  needed  you,  and  it 
could  do  no  possible  good  to  anybody  for 
you  to  lie  and  suffer  up  there  for  a  week. 
I  do  say  it  looks  sometimes  as  if  things  just 
happened  in  this  world,  or  else  were  managed 
by  somebody  who  hated  the  world  and  every 
good  plan  that  was  made  for  it.  Don't  you 
really  think  that  Satan  has  a  good  deal  of 
control,  Miss  Benedict?" 

But  there  were  reasons  why  Miss  Bene 
dict  thought  it  would  be  as  well  not  to  let 
her  pupil  wander  off  just  then  on  a  misty 
sea  of  questionings.  As  for  herself,  she  had 
no  doubt  that  the  interruption  was  for  some 
good  end  ;  it  is  true,  she  could  not  see  the 
end,  but  she  trusted  it. 

You  are  to  remember  that  she  had  had 
her  sharper  lessons,  beside  which  all  this  was 
the  merest  child's  play.  Those  girls  could 
not  possibly  know  how  that  awful  "  why " 
had  tortured  her  through  days  and  nights 
until  that  memorable  Sunday  night  when 
God  gave  her  victory.  What  interruptions 
had  come  to  her !  Father  and  fortune,  and 


ISO  INTERRUPTED. 

home,  and  life-work,  cut  off  in  a  moment; 
the  whole  current  of  her  life  changed; 
changed  in  ways  that  would  not  do  even  to 
hint  to  the  girls ;  what  was  a  sprained 
ankle  and  a  few  days  of  inaction  compared 
with  these !  Yet  their  evident  chafing  over 
the  loss  of  time  opened  her  eyes  to  a  new 
truth.  It  seemed  such  a  trivial  thing  to 
her,  that  she  could  scarce  restrain  her  lips 
from  a  smile  over  their  folly  in  dwelling  on 
it,  until  suddenly  there  dashed  over  her  the 
thought : 

"  What  if,  in  the  light  of  Heaven,  my  in 
terruptions  all  seem  as  small  as  this  ? " 

The  interrupted  work  was  now  taken  up 
with  renewed  energy,  and  indeed  blossomed 
at  once  into  new  varieties. 

"What  we  must  do  next  is  to  give  a 
concert." 

This  was  the  spark  that  the  music-teacher 
threw  into  the  midst  of  the  group  of  girls 
who  occupied  various  attitudes  about  her 
chair.  It  was  evening,  and  they  were  gath 
ered  in  her  room  for  a  chat  as  to  ways 
and  means.  Several  days  had  passed,  and 


LOGIC   AND    LABOR.  l8l 

the  foot  was  so  far  recovered  that  its  owner 
promised  it  a  walk  down  the  church  aisle 
on  the  following  Sabbath,  provided  Dennis 
could  arrange  to  have  it  taken  to  the  door. 
It  still,  however,  occupied  a  place  of  honor 
among  the  cushions,  and  Claire  sat  back  in 
the  depths  of  a  great  comfortable  rocker 
that  had  been  brought  from  the  parlor  for 
her  use. 

"  A  concert ! "  repeated  Ruth,  great  dismay 
in  her  voice,  "  us  ?  " 

"Yes,  us." 

"Who   would   come?"     This   from    Nettie. 

"  Everybody  will  come  after  we  are  ready, 
if  we  have  managed  our  part  of  the  work 
well,  and  put  our  tickets  low  enough,  and 
exerted  ourselves  to  sell  them.  Oh,  I  don't 
mean  play  !  I  mean  work  !  We  would  make 
ready  for  a  first-class  entertainment.  Let  me 
see,  are  you  not  all  my  music  pupils  ?  Yes, 
every  one  of  you,  either  vocal  or  piano 
pupils.  What  is  more  natural  than  to  sup 
pose  that  'Miss  Claire  Benedict,  assisted  by 

V 

her  able  and  efficient  class  of  pupils,'  can 
'  give  an  entertainment  in  the  audience-room 


1 82  INTERRUPTED. 

of  the   church,'   etc?     Isn't  that   the  way  the 

advertisements   head  ?  " 

"For   the   benefit   of  the    church?" 

But  to  this  suggestion  Miss  Benedict  promptly 

shook   her   head  : 

"No,  for   the  benefit   of  ourselves." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

INNOVATIONS. 

I  DISLIKE  that  way  of  doing  things. 
People  are  being  educated  to  suppose 
that  they  are  engaged  in  a  benevolent  en 
terprise  when  they  attend  a  benefit  concert 
or  entertainment.  Those  who  can  not  afford 
to  go  ease  their  consciences  by  saying,  '  Oh, 
well,  it  is  for  benevolence ;  '  when  it  really 
isn't,  you  know ;  it  is  for  self-gratification 
or  self-improvement,  and  people  who  ought 
to  give  twenty-five  dollars  for  a  thing  learn 
to  tell  themselves  that  they  went  to  the 
twenty-five  cent  supper,  or  concert,  and  that 
is  their  share,  they  suppose.  Let  us  invite 
them  to  come  to  our  concert  because  we 
believe  that  we  can  entertain  them,  and 
that  it  will  pay  them  to  be  present. 

"  The   fact   is,   girls,   the    church   of    Christ 
'83 


184  INTERRUPTED. 

doesn't  need  any  benefit.  We  degrade  it 
by  talking  as  though  it  did.  No,  we  will 
divide  the  proceeds  of  the  concert  in  shares 
among  ourselves ;  that  is  we,  the  workers, 
will  for  the  time  being  go  into  business 
and  earn  money  that  shall  be  ours.  We 
will  not  plead  poverty,  or  ask  people  to  lis 
ten  to  us  because  of  benevolence ;  we  will 
simply  give  them  a  chance  to  hear  a  good 
thing  if  they  want  to,  and  the  money  shall 
be  ours  to  do  exactly  what  we  please  with. 
Of  course,  if  we  please  to  give  every  cent  of 
it  to  the  church,  that  is  our  individual  affair." 

New  ground  this,  for  those  girls;  they 
had  never  before  heard  the  like ;  but  there 
was  an  instant  outgrowth  of  self-respect  be 
cause  of  it. 

"Then  we  can't  coax  people  to  buy  tick 
ets?"  said  Nettie.  "I'm  so  glad." 

"  Of  course  not.  The  very  utmost  that 
propriety  will  allow  us  to  do  will  be  to  ex 
hibit  our  goods  for  sale,  so  much  for  such 
an  equivalent,  and  allow  people  the  privi 
lege  of  choosing  what  they  will  do,  and 
where  they  will  go." 


INNOVATIONS.  185 

The  girls,  each  and  all,  agreed  that  from 
that  standpoint  they  would  as  soon  offer 
tickets  for  sale  as  not;  and  instantly  they 
stepped  upon  that  new  platform  and  argued 
from  it  in  the  future,  to  the  great  amaze 
ment  and  somewhat  to  the  bewilderment  of 
some  of  their  elders. 

Thereafter,  rehearsals  for  the  concert  be 
came  the  daily  order  of  things ;  not  much 
time  to  spend  each  day,  for  nothing  could 
be  done  until  lessons  were  over  and  all  reg 
ular  duties  honorably  discharged.  The  more 
need  then  for  promptness  and  diligence  on 
the  part  of  each  helper,  and  the  more  glar 
ingly  improper  it  became  to  delay  matters 
by  having  to  stay  behind  for  a  half-prepared 
lesson.  Never  had  the  Academy,  or  the 
village,  for  that  matter,  been  so  full  of 
eager,  throbbing,  healthy  life,  as  those  girls 
made  it. 

Their  numbers  grew,  also.  At  first,  the 
music-class  was  disposed,  like  the  others,  to 
be  exclusive,  and  to  shake  its  head  with  a 
lofty  negative  when  one  and  another  of  the 
outsiders  proposed  this  or  that  thing  which 


1 86  INTERRUPTED. 

they  would  do  to  help.  But  Miss  Benedict 
succeeded  in  tiding  them  over  that  shoal. 

"  It  is  their  church,  girls,  as  well  as  ours. 
We  must  not  hinder  them  from  showing 
their  love." 

"  Great  love  they  have  had,"  sneered  one  ; 
"  they  never  thought  of  doing  a  thing  until 
we  commenced." 

But  they  were  all  honest,  these  girls,  and 
this  very  one  who  had  offered  her  sneer, 
added  in  sober  second  thought: 

"  Though,  to  be  sure,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  neither  did  we,  until  you  begun  it. 
Well,  let  them  come  in ;  I  don't  care." 

"And  we  want  to  do  so  much,"  said  Miss 
Benedict,  with  enthusiasm;  "if  I  were  you 
I  would  take  all  the  help  I  could  get." 

Meantime,  the  other  schemes  connected 
with  this  gigantic  enterprise  flourished.  There 
seemed  no  end  to  the  devices  for  money- 
making,  all  of  them  in  somewhat  new  chan 
nels,  too. 

"  Not  a  tidy  in  the  enterprise,"  said  Ruth 
Jennings,  gravely,  as  she  tried  to  explain 
some  of  the  work  to  her  mother.  "  Who 


INNOVATIONS.  l8/ 

ever  heard  of  a  church  getting  itself  repaired 
without  the  aid  of  tidies  and  pin-cushions! 
I  wonder  when  they  began  with  such  things, 
mother?  Do  you  suppose  St.  Paul  had  to 
patronize  fairs,  and  buy  slippers  and  things, 
for  the  benefit  of  churches  in  Ephesus  or 
Corinth  ?  " 

The  bewildered  mother,  with  a  vague  idea 
that  Ruth  was  being  almost  irreverent,  could 
not,  for  all  that,  decide  how  to  answer  her. 

"  For  there  isn't  any  religion  in  those 
things,  of  course,"  she  said  to  the  equally- 
puzzled  father,  "and  it  did  sound  ridiculous 
to  hear  St.  Paul's  name  brought  into  it ! 
That  Miss  Benedict  has  all  sorts  of  new 
ideas." 

In  the  course  of  time,  the  boys  (who  are 
quite  likely  to  become  interested  in  anything 
that  has  deeply  interested  the  girls)  were 
drawn  into  service.  Here,  too,  the  ways  of 
working  were  unusual  and  suggestive.  Miss 
Benedict  heard  of  one  who  had  promised  to 
give  all  the  cigars  he  would  probably  have 
smoked  in  two  months'  time,  whereupon  she 
made  this  eager  comment: 


1 88  INTERRUPTED. 

"Oh,  what  a  pity  that  it  is  not  going  to 
take  us  fifty  years  to  repair  the  church!  then 
we  would  get  him  to  promise  to  give  us  the 
savings  of  cigars  until  it  was  done ! " 

This  was  duly  reported  to  him,  and  gave 
him  food  for  thought. 

Another  promised  the  savings  from  sleigh- 
rides  that  he  had  intended  to  take,  and  an 
other  gravely  wrote  down  in  Ruth  Jennings' 
note-book:  "Harry  Matthews,  $1.10;  the  price 
of  two  new  neckties  and  a  bottle  of  hair 
oil ! "  There  was  more  than  fun  to  some  of 
these  entries.  Some  of  the  boys  could  not 
have  kept  their  pledges  if  there  had  not 
been  these  queer  little  sacrifices. 

One  evening  there  was  a  new  develop 
ment.  Ruth  Jennings  brought  the  news. 
The  much-abused,  long-suffering,  neglectful 
sexton  of  the  half-alive  church  notified  the 
startled  trustees  that  he  had  received  a 
louder  call  to  the  church  on  the  other  cor 
ner,  and  must  leave  them.  It  really  was 
startling  news ;  for  bad  as  he  had  been, 
not  one  in  the  little  village  could  be  thought 
of  who  would  be  likely  to  supply  his  place. 


INNOVATIONS,  189 

Ruth  reported  her  father  as  filled  with 
consternation. 

"I  wish  I  were  a  man!"  savagely  an 
nounced  Anna  Graves,  "  then  I  would  offer 
myself  for  the  position  at  once.  It  is  as 
easy  to  make  three  dollars  a  month  in  that 
way  as  it  is  in  any  other  that  I  know  of." 

That  was  the  first  development  of  the 
new  idea.  Miss  Benedict  bestowed  a  sud 
den  glance,  half  of  amusement,  half  of 
pleasure,  on  her  aspiring  pupil,  and  was 
silent. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  the  fires,"  was  Nettie 
Burdick's  slow-spoken  sentence,  rather  as  if 
she  were  thinking  aloud  than  talking.  That 
is  the  way  the  idea  began  to  grow. 

Then  Ruth  Jennings,  with  a  sudden  dash, 
as  she  was  very  apt  to  enter  into  a  sub 
ject : 

"  It  is  no  harder  to  make  fires  in  church 
stoves  than  it  is  in  sitting-room  ones.  I've 
done  that  often.  I  say,  girls,  let's  do  it ! " 

Every  one  of  them  knew  that  she  meant 
the  church  stoves  instead  of  the  sitting- 
room  ones,  and  that  was  the  way  that  the 


INTERRUPTED. 

idea  took  on  flesh,  and  stood  up  before 
them. 

There  followed  much  eager  discussion  and 
of  course  some  demurs.  Nothing  ever  was 
done  yet,  or  ever  will  be,  without  somebody 
objecting  to  it.  At  least,  this  was  what 
Ruth  said;  and  she  added  that  she  could 
not,  to  save  her  life,  help  being  a  little  more 
settled  in  a  determination  after  she  had  heard 
somebody  oppose  it  a  trifle. 

However,  the  trustees  opposed  it  more  than 
a  trifle.  They  were  amazed.  Such  an  inno 
vation  on  the  time-honored  ways  of  South 
Plains  had  never  been  heard  of  before.  Argu 
ment  ran  high.  The  half-doubtful  girls  came 
squarely  over  to  the  aggressive  side,  and 
waxed  eloquent  over  the  plan.  It  was  car 
ried  at  last,  as  Miss  Benedict,  looking  on 
and  laughing,  told  the  girls  she  knew  it 
would  be. 

"  When  you  get  fairly  roused,  my  girls,  I 
observe  that  you  are  quite  apt  to  carry  the 
day."  She  did  not  tell  them  that  they  were 
girls  after  her  own  heart,  but  I  think  per 
haps  she  looked  it. 


INNOVATIONS.  IQI 

One  request  the  trustees  growled  vigor 
ously  over,  which  was  that  the  new  sextons 
should  be  paid  in  advance  for  a  half-year's 
work.  What  if  they  failed? 

"  We  won't  fail,"  said  Ruth  indignantly, 
"  and  if  we  do,  can't  you  conceive  of  the 
possibility  of  our  being  honest?  We  will  not 
keep  a  cent  of  the  precious  money  that  has 
not  been  earned." 

Whereupon,  Mr.  Jennings,  in  a  private 
conference  with  the  trustees,  went  over  to 
the  enemy's  side,  and  promised  to  stand 
security  for  them,  remarking  apologetically 
that  the  girls  had  all  gone  crazy  over  some 
thing,  his  Ruth  among  the  number.  There 
fore  eighteen  dollars  were  gleefully  added 
to  the  treasury.  The  sum  was  certainlj 
growing. 

The  Sabbath  following  the  installation  of 
the  new  sextons  marked  a  change  in  the 
appearance  of  the  old  church.  The  floors 
had  been  carefully  swept  and  cleansed,  the 
young  ladies  drawing  on  their  precious  funds 
for  the  purpose  of  paying  a  woman  who  had 
scrubbed  vigorously. 


IQ2  INTERRUPTED. 

"It  would  be  more  fascinating,"  Ruth  Jen 
nings  frankly  admitted,  "  to  let  all  the  im 
provements  come  in  together  in  one  grand 
blaze  of  glory ;  but  then  it  would  be  more 
decent  to  have  those  floors  scrubbed,  and  I 
move  that  we  go  in  for  decency,  to  the  sac 
rifice  of  glory,  if  need  be." 

So  they  did.  Not  a  particle  of  dust  was 
to  be  seen  on  that  Sabbath  morning  anywhere 
about  the  sanctuary.  From  force  of  habit, 
the  men  carefully  brushed  their  hats  with 
their  coat-sleeves  as  they  took  possession  of 
them  again,  the  service  over  ;  but  the  look 
of  surprise  on  the  faces  of  some  over  the 
discovery  that  there  was  nothing  to  brush 
away,  was  a  source  of  amusement  to  a  few 
of  the  watchful  girls. 

Also  the  few  stragglers  who  returned  for 
the  evening  service  were  caught  looking 
about  them  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  as 
though  they  deemed  it  just  possible  that 
there  might  be  an  incipient  fire  in  progress 
that  threatened  the  building.  Not  that  a 
new  lamp  had  been  added ;  the  chimneys  had 
simply  been  washed  in  soapsuds,  and  polished 


INNOVATIONS.  IQ3 

until  they  shone,  and  new  wicks  had  been 
furnished,  the  workers  declaring  that  their 
consciences  really  would  not  allow  them  to 
do  less.  The  effect  of  these  very  common 
place  efforts  was  somewhat  astonishing,  even 
to  them. 

"  It  is  well  we  did  it,"  affirmed  Anna 
Graves  with  serious  face.  "  I  believe  we 
ought  to  get  the  people  used  to  these  things 
by  degrees  or  they  will  be  frightened." 

One  question  Claire  puzzled  over  iu  si 
lence:  Did  the  minister  really  preach  a 
better  sermon  that  evening?  Was  it  possi 
ble  that  the  cleanliness  about  him  might 
have  put  a  little  energy  into  his  discour 
aged  heart,  or  had  she  been  so  tired  with 
her  week  of  toil,  that  to  see  every  one  of 
her  dozen  girls  out  to  church,  and  sit  back 
and  look  at  them  through  the  brightness  of 
clean  lamps,  was  restful  and  satisfying? 
She  found  that  she  could  not  decide  on  the 
minister  as  yet.  Perhaps  the  carrying  of 
such  a  load  as  that  church,  for  years,  was 
what  had  taken  the  spring  out  of  his  voice 
and  the  life  out  of  his  words. 


194  INTERRUPTED. 

About  these  things  nothing  must  be  said, 
yet  could  not  something  be  done  ?  How 
could  she  and  her  girls  help  that  pastor? 

Meantime,  some  of  the  girls  came  to  her 
one  evening,  bursting  with  laughter : 

"  Oh,  Miss  Benedict,  we  have  a  new  re 
cruit  !  You  couldn't  guess  who.  We  shall 
certainly  succeed  now,  with  such  a  valuable 
reinforcement.  Oh,  girls,  we  know  now 
why  Miss  Benedict  sprained  her  ankle,  and 
kept  us  all  waiting  for  a  week !  This  is  a 
direct  result  from  that  week's  work." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  said 
Miss  Benedict,  with  smiling  eyes  and  sym 
pathetic  voice.  It  was  a  great  addition  to 
her  power  over  those  girls  that  she  held 
herself  in  readiness  always  to  join  their 
fun  at  legitimate  moments.  Sad-hearted  she 
often  was,  but  what  good  that  those  young 
things  should  see  it?  "Who  is  your  re 
cruit  ?  " 

"Why,  Bud!"  they  said,  and  then  there 
were  shouts  of  laughter  again,  and  Ruth 
could  hardly  command  her  voice  to  explain : 
"  He  came  to  me  last  night  —  tramped  all 


INNOVATIONS.  IQ5 

the  way  up  to  our  house  in  the  snow, 
after  meeting  —  because  he  said  he  wasn't  so 
'  'fraid '  of  me  as  he  was  of  '  all  them 
others.'  Was  that  a  compliment,  girls,  or 
an  insult?  Yes,  Miss  Benedict,  he  wants  to 
help ;  offers  to  '  tend  the  fires,'  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  could  do  it  much  better  than 
it  has  been  done  at  least.  It  was  real 
funny,  and  real  pitiful,  too.  He  said  it  was 
the  only  'livin'  thing  he  knew  how  to  do,' 
and  that  he  was  sure  and  certain  he  could 
do,  and  if  it  would  help  any,  he  would  be 
awful  glad  to  join." 

"But  doesn't  he  want  to  be  paid?" 
screamed  one  of  the  girls. 

"  Paid  ?  not  he !  I  tell  you  he  wants  to 
join  us.  He  said  he  wanted  to  do  it  to 
please  her.  That  means  you,  Miss  Benedict. 
You  have  won  his  heart  in  some  way.  Oh, 
it  is  the  fruit  of  the  sprained  ankle.  You 
know,  girls,  she  said  it  was  surely  for  some 
good  purpose."  Then  they  all  went  off  into 
ecstatic  laughter  again.  They  were  just  at 
the  age  when  it  takes  so  little  to  convulse 
girls. 


IQ6  INTERRUPTED. 

"  But  I  am  not  yet  enlightened,"  explained 
Claire,  as  soon  as  there  was  hope  of  her 
being  heard.  "Who  is  Bud?" 

"  Oh,  is  it  possible  you  don't  remember 
him?  That  is  too  cruel,  when  he  is  just 
devoted  to  you !  Why,  he  is  the  furnace- 
boy  at  the  Ansteds.  I  don't  know  where 
he  saw  you.  He  muttered  something  about 
the  furnace  and  the  register  that  I  did  not 
understand ;  but  he  plainly  intimated  that 
he  was  ready  to  be  your  devoted  servant, 
and  die  for  you,  if  need  be,  or  at  least, 
make  the  church  fires  as  many  days  and 
nights  as  you  should  want  them.  Now  the 
question  is,  what  shall  we  do  to  the  poor 
fellow?" 

The  furnace-boy  at  the  Ansteds !  Oh,  yes, 
Claire  remembered  him,  a  great,  blundering, 
apparently  half-witted,  friendless,  hopeless  boy. 
Claire's  heart  had  gone  out  in  pity  for  him 
the  first  time  she  ever  saw  him.  He  had 
been  sent  to  her  room  to  make  some  ad 
justment  of  the  register-screw,  and  she  had 
asked  him  if  he  understood  furnaces,  and  if 
he  liked  to  work,  and  if  the  snow  was 


INNOVATIONS. 

deep,  and  a  few  other  aimless  questions,  just 
for  the  sake  of  speaking  to  him  with  a 
pleasant  voice,  and  seeming  to  take  an  in 
terest  in  his  existence.  Her  father's  heart 
had  always  overflowed  with  tenderness  and 
helpfulness  for  all  such  boys.  Claire  had 
pleased  herself  —  or  perhaps  I  might  say 
saddened  herself — with  thinking  what  her 
father,  if  he  were  alive,  and  should  come  in 
contact  with  Bud,  would  probably  try  to  do 
for  him.  She  could  think  of  ways  in  which 
her  father  would  work  to  help  him,  but  she 
sadly  told  herself  that  all  that  was  passed ; 
her  father  was  gone  where  he  could  not 
help  Bud,  and  there  were  few  men  like 
him ;  and  the  boy  would  probably  have  to 
stumble  along  through  a  cold  and  lonely 
world.  She  had  not  thought  of  one  thing 
that  she  could  do  for  him ;  indeed,  it  had 
not  so  much  as  occurred  to  her  as  possible 
that  there  could  be  anything.  After  that 
first  day  she  had  not  seen  him  again,  until 
he  came  to  the  music-room  with  a  message 
for  Ella,  and  she  had  turned  her  head  and 
smiled,  and  said  "Good-morning!"  and  that 


1 98  INTERRUPTED. 

was  really  all  that  she  knew  about  Bud. 
She  'had  forgotten  his  existence ;  arid  she 
had  been  sorrowing  because  her  week  at 
the  Ansteds  seemed  to  have  accomplished 
nothing  at  all. 

Her  face  was  averted  for  a  moment  from 
the  girls,  and  some  of  them,  noticing,  actu 
ally  thought  that  their  gay  banter  was  of 
fensive,  and  was  what  caused  the  heightened 
color  on  her  cheeks  as  she  turned  back  to 
them. 

They  could  not  have  understood,  even  had 
she  tried  to  explain,  that  it  was  a  blush  of 
shame  over  the  thought  that  the  one  whom 
possibly  she  might  have  won  from  that  home 
for  the  Master's  service  she  had  forgotten, 
and  reached  out  after  those  whom,  possibly, 
she  was  not  sent  to  reach.  Her  eyes  were 
open  now;  she  would  do  what  she  could  to 
repair  blunders. 

"Do  with  him?"  she  said,  going  back  to 
Ruth's  last  question.  "  We'll  accept  him,  of 
course,  and  set  him  to  work  ;  I  should  not 
be  greatly  surprised  if  he  should  prove  one 
of  the  most  useful  helpers  on  our  list  before 


INNOVATIONS.  199 

the  winter  is  over.  Look  at  the  snow  com 
ing  down,  and  we  have  a  rehearsal  to-night ; 
don't  you  believe  he  can  shovel  paths,  as 
well  as  make  fires?" 

"  Sure  enough !  "  said  those  girls,  and  they 
went  away  pleased  with  the  addition  to  the 
circle  of  workers,  and  prepared  every  one  to 
greet  him  as  a  helper. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

BLIND. 

I  SUPPOSE  there  was  never  a  project 
that  went  forward  on  swifter  wings  than 
did  this  one,  born  of  the  stranger's  sermon 
preached  that  night  in  the  little  neglected 
church  at  South  Plains.  Sometimes  I  am 
sad  over  the  thought  that  he  knew  nothing 
about  it.  Nobody,  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
ever  took  time  to  tell  him  that  he  was  the 
prime  mover  in  the  entire  scheme. 

The  numerous  plans  for  making  money 
made  progress  with  the  rest.  Prospered,  in 
deed,  to  a  degree  that  filled  the  young 
workers  with  amazement — I  might  almost 
say,  with  awe.  They  grew  into  the  feeling 
that  Miss  Benedict  was  right,  and  that  God 
himself  smiled  on  their  scheme,  and  gave  it 
the  power  of  his  approval. 

200 


BLIND.  2OI 

As  the  days  went  by,  the  reading  spirit 
in  the  enterprise  grew  almost  too  busy  to 
write  her  daily  hurried  postals  to  her  mother. 
These  same  postals  were  gradually  filled  with 
items  that  astonished  and  somewhat  bewil 
dered  the  mother  and  daughter  who  watched 
so  eagerly  for  them. 

"Would  mamma  be  so  kind  as  to  call  on 
Mr.  Parkhurst,  the  one  who  was  chief  man 
at  the  carpet  factory  up  there  by  papa's  old 
mill,  you  know?  Would  she,  on  the  next 
bright  day,  take  the  blue  car  line  and  ride 
up  there  and  talk  with  him?  The  ride 
would  do  her  good,  and  it  would  be  such  a 
help  to  the  girls.  They  would  need  only 
a  little  carpeting,  it  was  true;  but  if  Mr. 
Parkhurst  would  be  so  kind  as  to  sell  to 
them  at  wholesale,  factory  prices,  it  would 
make  a  great  difference  with  their  purses, 
and  she  was  sure  he  would  be  pleased  to 
do  it  if  mamma  would  ask  him,  because  you 
know,  mamma,  he  felt  very  grateful  to  papa 
for  help  years  ago." 

This    was   the   substance  of  one  postal. 

"One    would  think  that   Claire    had    bought 


2O2  INTERRUPTED. 

the  little  old  church,  and  was  fitting  it  up 
for  her  future  home,"  commented  Dora,  a 
trifle  annoyed.  The  truth  was,  her  sister 
seemed  almost  unpardonably  satisfied  and 
happy  away  from  them. 

Another  day  would  bring  further  petitions  : 
"  Would  it  be  too  much  for  mamma  to  look 
at  wall-papers,  something  very  neat  and  plain, 
not  at  all  expensive,  but  suited  to  a  small 
church;  and  make  an  estimate  of  the  expense 
in  round  numbers?"  Then  would  follow  a 
line  of  figures,  indicating  length  and  breadth 
and  height. 

"  What  a  child  she  is ! "  would  the  mother 
say,  sighing  and  then  smiling  —  the  smiles 
came  last  and  oftenest  in  speaking  of  Claire. 
"  She  was  always  very  much  like  your  father, 
and  it  grows  on  her.  Well,  we  must  see 
about  the  wall-paper ;  perhaps  this  afternoon 
will  be  a  good  time  to  give  to  it."  And 
the  commissions  were  executed  promptly 
and  with  painstaking  care ;  and  Claire  could 
see  that  both  mother  and  Dora  were  becom 
ing  interested  in  the  old  church  at  South 
Plains,  and  were  absorbing  a  good  many  of 


BLIND.  203 

their  otherwise  leisure  and  sad  hours  in 
travelling  hither  and  thither  in  search  of 
shades  and  grades  that  would  be  likely  to 
give  her  satisfaction.  Samples  were  sent  to 
her,  and  astonishingly  low  figures  accompanied 
some  of  them ;  figures  which  were  communi 
cated  with  shining  eyes  to  the  deeply-inter 
ested  girls,  and  they  sent  messages  of  thanks 
to  the  mother  and  daughter  far  away. 

Meantime,  the  Ansteds  were  not  forgotten. 
There  was  a  special  committee  meeting  one 
evening  in  Miss  Benedict's  room.  A  letter 
had  come  "from  the  foreign  member  of  our 
firm,"  Miss  Benedict  had  explained,  laugh 
ing,  meaning  her  mother,  and  its  contents 
were  to  be  discussed  and  voted  upon.  In 
the  midst  of  the  interest  came  a  message 
from  Mrs.  Foster:  "Would  Miss  Benedict  be 
kind  enough  to  come  to  the  parlor  for  a 
few  minutes,  to  see  Mr.  and  Miss  Ansted  ? " 

"I  must  go,  girls,"  Claire  said,  rising 
quickly.  "  This  is  the  third  attempt  Miss 
Ansted  has  made  to  call  on  me  since  their 
kindness  to  me,  and  I  have  either  been  out 
or  engaged  in  giving  lessons.  You  will  have 


2O4  INTERRUPTED. 

to  excuse  me  for  a  little  while.  I  will  re 
turn  as  soon  as  I  can.  Meantime,  I  am 
going  to  see  if  I  can't  secure  help  in  that 
direction  for  our  enterprise." 

*'  You  won't,"  said  Mary  Burton,  emphat 
ically.  "  They  say  Alice  Ansted  is  a  good 
singer,  but  she  has  been  heard  to  say  that 
she  would  as  soon  think  of  singing  in  a  barn 
as  in  our  church ;  and  that  the  one  time 
she  heard  our  organ,  she  thought  it  was  some 
mice  squealing  in  the  ceiling." 

"Wait  until  we  get  it  tuned,  and  the 
pedals  oiled,"  said  Ruth  Jennings ;  "  I  don't 
believe  it  will  be  such  a  bad-sounding  instru 
ment.  At  least,  it  is  my  opinion  that  Alice 
Ansted  will  find  herself  able  to  endure  in 
that  line  what  Miss  Benedict  is.  Girls,  I 
heard  last  night  that  she  is  a  beautiful 
singer.  Isn't  it  queer  that  she  has  never 
sung  for  us  ?  " 

This  last  was  after  Claire  had  left  them, 
but  as  she  was  about  to  close  the  door,  Ruth 
Jennings  had  made  a  remark  which  had 
drawn  her  back : 

"  Get     Louis     Ansted     to     pledge     us     the 


BLIND.  2O5 

money  which  he  spends  in  wines  each  year, 
and  that  will  do  us  good  and  him  too." 

"  Does  he  use  wines  freely  ? "  Claire  said, 
turning  back. 

"  Yes,  indeed  he  does ;  altogether  too  freely 
for  his  good,  if  the  village  boys  can  be  be 
lieved.  I  heard  that  he  came  home  intoxi 
cated  only  night  before  last." 

"  Why,  that  is  nothing  new ! "  added  Net 
tie  Burdick ;  "he  often  comes  home  in  that 
condition.  Dick  Fuller  says  it  is  a  common 
experience ;  and  he  would  know  what  he  is 
talking  about,  for  he  has  to  be  at  the  depot 
when  the  last  train  comes  in.  Besides,  he 
makes  his  money  in  that  way  ;  why  shouldn't 
he  patronize  himself?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Claire  asked,  her 
face  troubled. 

"Why,  his  money  is  all  invested  in  one 
of  the  distilleries.  He  has  a  fortune  in  his 
own  right,  Miss  Benedict,  left  him  by  his 
grandmother,  and  he  invested  it  in  West- 
lake's  distillery.  He  is  one  of  the  owners, 
though  his  name  does  not  appear  in  the 
firm;  the  Ansted  pride  would  not  like  that; 


2O6  INTERRUPTED. 

but  I  know  this  is  true,  for  my  uncle  trans 
acted  the  business  for  him." 

Claire  started  again,  making  no  comment, 
but  this  time  she  moved  more  slowly.  There 
were  reasons  why  the  news  gave  her  a 
special  thrust. 

The  callers  greeted  her  with  evident  plea 
sure,  and  expressed  their  disappointment  at 
having  failed  to  see  her  in  their  other  at 
tempts,  and  gave  her  messages  from  their 
mother  to  the  effect  that  she  was  to  consider 
their  house  one  of  her  homes.  Fanatic 
though  she  was,  it  was  plainly  to  be  seen 
that  they  had  resolved  to  tolerate  the  fanat 
icism  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  of  her 
society. 

There  were  other  callers,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  conversation,  which  had  been  gen 
eral,  dropped  into  little  side  channels.  Alice 
Ansted,  occupying  a  seat  near  Miss  Benedict, 
turned  to  her  and  spoke  low : 

"  I  have  wanted  to  see  you.  What  you 
said  to  me  that  day  has  made  me  more  dis 
satisfied  than  ever,  and  that  was  unneces- 
sar}r ;  I  was  uncomfortable  enough  before.  I 


BLIND.  2O7 

did  not  understand  you.  What  is  there  that 
you  want  me  to  do  ? " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  want  you  to  do 
anything?"  Claire  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  ask  the  question,  and  to  laugh 
a  little ;  her  questioner's  tone  was  so  ner 
vous,  so  almost  rebellious,  and  at  the  same 
time  so  pettish. 

'"Oh,  I  know  well  enough.  You  expressed 
surprise,  and  well  —  almost  bewilderment  — 
that  I  did  not  find  absorbing  work  in  a 
channel  about  which  I  know  nothing.  Sup 
pose  I  am  a  Christian,  what  then  ?  What 
do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"But,  my  dear  Miss  Ansted,  I  am  not  the 
one  of  whom  that  inquiry  should  be  made. 
If  you  belong  to  the  Lord  Jesus,  surely  he 
has  work  for  you,  and  is  able  to  point  it 
out,  and  to  fill  your  heart  with  satisfaction 
while  you  do  his  bidding." 

There  was  a  gesture  almost  of  impa 
tience. 

"  I  tell  you  I  don't  understand  such  talk. 
It  sounds  like  '  cant '  to  me,  and  nothing 
else  ;  that  is,  it  does  when  other  people  say 


2O8  INTERRUPTED. 

it,  but  you  seem  different;  you  live  differ 
ently,  some  way,  and  interest  yourself  about 
different  matters  from  those  which  absorb 
the  people  whom  I  have  heard  talk  that 
way.  Now  I  ask  you  a  straightforward 
question:  What  do  you  want  me  to  do? 
What  do  you  see  that  I  could  do,  if  I  were 
what  you  mean  by  being  a  Christian  ? " 

Claire's   face   brightened. 

"  Oh,  that  is  such  a  different  question ! " 
she  said.  "  I  am  really  very  glad  of  an  op 
portunity  to  answer  it.  I  know  a  dozen 
things  that  you  could  do.  For  instance,  you 
could  throw  yourself  into  the  life  of  this 
neglected,  almost  deserted  church,  and  help 
to  make  it  what  it  should  be;  you  could 
give  your  time,  and  your  money,  and  your 
voice,  to  making  it  arise  and  shine." 

"How?  What  on  earth  is  there  that  I 
could  do,  even  if  I  wanted  to  do  anything 
in  that  direction,  which  I  don't?" 

"  I  know  it,  but  that  doesn't  hinder  me 
from  seeing  what  you  could  do.  Why,  if 
you  want  me  to  be  very  specific,  if  you 
have  no  better  plan  than  we  are  working 


BLlNt).  2O9 

on  to  propose,  you  could  join  us  with  all 
your  heart,  and  work  with  us,  and  worship 
witli  us  on  Sabbaths,  and  help  us  in  our 
preparations  for  a  concert." 

"  And  sing  in  that  stuffy  room,  to  the  ac 
companiment  of  that  horrid  little  organ,  and 
for  the  benefit  of  such  an  audience  as 
South  Plains  would  furnish !  Thank  you, 
I  don't  mean  to  do  it!  What  else?" 

"  Of  what  special  use  is  it  for  me  to  sug 
gest  ways,  since  you  receive  them  with  such 
determined  refusals  ?  " 

"  That  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
how  far  your  enthusiasm  reaches.  I  would 
call  it  fanaticism  if  I  dared,  Miss  Benedict, 
but  that  would  be  rude.  Tell  me  what 
next?" 

Claire  considered,  Miss  Ansted  meantime 
watching  her  closely.  When  at  last  she 
spoke,  her  tone  dropped  lower,  and  was 
graver : 

"  I  wish  with  all  my  soul  that  you  would 
interest  yourself  in  Bud." 

"  In  Bud !  "  It  was  impossible  not  to  give 
a  start  of  surprise,  not  to  say  dismay, 


2IO  INTERRUPTED. 

"Now,  Miss  Benedict,  that  passes  compre 
hension  !  What  on  earth  is  there  that  I 
could  do  for  a  great,  ignorant,  blundering 
clod  like  Bud?  He  has  plenty  to  eat,  and 
is  decently  clothed  without  any  assistance 
from  me.  What  more  can  you  imagine  he 
wants?" 

"  He  wants  God,"  said  Claire,  solemnly, 
"and  the  knowledge  of  him  in  the  face  of 
Jesus  Christ.  He  is  to  live  forever,  Miss 
Ansted,  as  certainly  as  you  are ;  and  the 
time  hastens  when  food  and  clothing  for 
the  soul  will  be  a  necessity  for  him  as  well 
as  to  you,  or  he  will  appear  before  God 
naked  and  starved,  and  you  will  have  to 
meet  him  there,  and  bear  some  of  the 
blame." 

"I  never  heard  a  person  talk  so  in  my 
life.  Bud  is  not  more  than  half-witted.  I 
doubt  whether  he  knows  that  there  is  such 
a  being  as  God.  What  can  you  fancy  it 
possible  for  me  to  do  for  him  ? " 

"Do  you  think,  then,  that  he  has  no 
soul?" 

"  Why,   I    did    not    say    that !     I    suppose 


BLIND.  211 

he  has,  of  course.  He  is  not  an  animal, 
though  I  must  say  he  approaches  very  nearly 
to  the  level  of  one." 

"  And  don't  you  think  that  he  will  have 
to  die,  and  go  to  the  judgment,  and  meet 
God?" 

"  How  dreadful  all  these  things  are !  Of 
course  he  will !  but  how  can  I  help  it  ? " 

"  Do   you   suppose   he    is   ready  ? " 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  ever  thought  of  such 
a  thing  in  his  life.  He  hasn't  mind  enough, 
probably,  to  comprehend." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  Don't  you  be 
lieve  the  boy  to  whom  you  can  say,  '  Close 
the  blinds  on  the  north  side,  to  shut  out 
the  wind,'  could  understand  if  you  said: 
'  Bud,  God  is  as  surely  in  the  world  as  the 
wind  is,  though  you  can  not  see  either. 
He  has  said  that  when  you  die  vou  shall 

»/  */ 

see  him,  and  that  you  shall  live  with  him 
in  a  beautiful  home,  if  you  will  love  him 
here,  and  obey  his  orders ;  and  what  he 
wants  you  to  do  is  all  printed  in  a  book 
that  you  can  learn  to  read?'  Do  you  think 
Bud  could  not  comprehend  as  much  as  that?" 


212  INTERRUPTED. 

"I  never  heard  of  such  an  idea  in  my 
life!"  said  Miss  Ansted.  "I  don't  know 
how  to  teach  such  things."  And  she  turned 
away  and  talked  with  a  caller  about  the 
travelling  opera  company  who  were  to  sing 
in  the  city  on  the  following  evening. 

Mr.  Ansted  had  changed  his  seat,  mean 
time,  and  was  waiting  for  his  opportunity. 
He  turned  to  Claire  the  moment  his  sister 
withdrew. 

"  I  came  to  ask  a  favor  of  you  this  even 
ing  ;  two  of  them,  in  fact ;  but  the  first  is 
on  such  strange  ground  for  me,  that  I  have 
been  studying  all  day  how  to  put  it." 

"  And  have  you   decided  ?  " 

"  No,  left  it  in  despair ;  only  praying 
that  the  Fates  would  be  favorable  to  me, 
and  grant  me  opportunity  and  words.  Here 
is  the  opportunity,  but  where  are  the  words  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  found  it  comfortable  to 
be  as  simple  and  direct  as  possible  with  all 
communications.  Suppose  you  see  how  fully 
you  can  put  the  thought  before  me  in  a 
single  sentence." 

The  gentleman   laughed. 


BLIND.  213 

"  That  would  be  one  way  to  make  an  in 
terview  brief,  if  such  were  my  desire.  I  can 
not  say,  however,  that  that  phase  of  the 
subject  troubles  me  any.  Well,  I  will  take 
your  advice,  and  put  a  large  portion  of  my 
thought  into  a  short  sentence :  I  wish  you 
could  and  would  do  something  for  Harry 
Matthews." 

It  was  not  in  the  least  what  she  had  ex 
pected.  She  supposed  his  words  were  to 
preface  a  flattering  invitation,  or  something 
of  that  character.  An  apparently  earnest 
sentence,  concerning  a  merry  young  fellow 
in  whom  she  was  already  somewhat  inter 
ested,  filled  her  with  surprise,  and  kept  her 
silent. 

"  Is  that  brief  and  abrupt  enough  ? "  he 
asked,  and  then,  without  waiting  for  answer, 
continued :  "  I  mean  it,  strange  as  it  may 
seem  ;  and  I  so  rarely  do  unselfish  things 
that  I  can  imagine  it  seems  strange  enough. 
I  haven't  a  personal  thought  in  the  matter. 
Harry  is  a  good  fellow ;  a  little  fast,  the 
old  ladies  say,  and  shake  their  heads,  but 
they  don't  know  what  they  mean  by  that. 


214  INTERRUPTED. 

The  boy  is  a  favorite  of  mine ;  and  he  is 
one  who  has  a  good  deal  of  force  of  char 
acter  without  any  will-power,  if  that  is  not 
a  contradiction.  I  fancy  }rou  know  what  I 
mean.  I  am  going  to  speak  more  plainly 
now.  Away  back  in  some  former  generation 
—  no,  I  am  going  to  tell  the  naked  truth. 
Do  you  know  anything  of  his  family,  Miss 
Benedict?" 

"Not   anything." 

"  Well,  his  father  was  a  good  man  and  a 
drunkard.  You  think  that  is  another  con 
tradiction  of  terms.  Perhaps  it  is,  as  you 
would  mean  it,  but  not  as  I  do.  He  was  a 
good,  warm-hearted,  whole-souled  man,  and  he 
drank  himself  into  his  grave ;  shipwrecked 
his  property,  and  left  his  widow  and  this 
boy  dependents  on  wealthy  relatives,  or  on 
themselves.  Harry  is  trying  to  be  a  man, 
and  works  hard,  and  is  specially  tempted  in 
the  line  at  which  I  have  hinted.  I  feel 
afraid  for  him,  and  the  only  person  in  this 
little  wretch  of  a  village  whom  I  think 
might  help  him  is  yourself.  Will  you  try  ? " 

"  Mr.    Ansted,    why   don't  you    help    him  ? " 


BLIND.  215 

It  was  his  turn  to  be  taken  aback.  He 
had  not  expected  this  answer.  He  had  looked 
for  an  instant  and  interested  affirmative,  and 
he  had  expected  to  tell  her  more  of  Harry 
Matthews,  and  of  his  peculiar  associations 
and  temptations. 

"  I ! "  he  said,  and  then  he  laughed.  "  Miss 
Benedict,  you  are  most  remarkable  as  re 
gards  your  talent  for  asking  strange  questions. 
It  is  evident  that  you  are  a  stranger  in 
South  Plains ;  and  I  don't  know  what  the 
gossips  have  been  about,  that  they  have  not 
posted  you  better.  You  should  know  that  I 
am  really  the  last  person  in  the  neighbor 
hood  who  is  expected  to  help  anybody ; 
least  of  all,  can  I  help  Harry  Matthews. 
The  most  helpful  thing  that  I  can  think  of 
for  the  boy  is  to  keep  away  from  me.  My 
influence  over  him  is  altogether  bad,  and 
growing  worse.  What  he  needs  is  to  be 
drawn  away  from  present  associations  en 
tirely,  and,  indeed,  from  his  present  associ 
ates,  of  which  I  am  often  one.  I  fancy  that 
this  organization  of  yours,  in  which  he  is 
already  interested,  might  be  managed  in  a 


2l6  INTERRUPTED. 

way  to  help  him,  and  it  occurred  to  me  to 
enlighten  you  in  regard  to  him,  and  ask  for 
your  helping  hand." 

"  Mr.  Ansted,  I  hope  you  will  pardon  the 
rudeness,  but  your  words  sound  to  me  al 
most  like  those  of  an  insane  person.  You 
recognize  your  influence  over  a  young  man 
to  be  evil,  realize  it  to  the  extent  that  you 
make  an  effort  to  have  him  withdrawn 
from  it,  and  yet  if  I  understand  you,  make 
no  attempt  to  change  the  character  of  the 
influence  which  you  have  over  him.  That 
can  not  possibly  be  your  meaning ! " 

"  I  think  it  is,  about  that.  Don't  you 
understand  ?  What  is  a  mere  entertainment 
to  me  —  a  passing  luxury,  which  I  can  afford, 
and  which  does  me  no  harm  —  is  the  very 
brink  of  a  precipice  to  poor  Harry,  owing 
to  his  unfortunate  inherited  tendencies.  I 
would  like  to  see  him  saved,  but  there  is 
nothing  in  particular  that  I  can  do." 

"  Oh,"  she  said  in  genuine  distress,  "  I 
wonder  if  it  is  possible  for  a  soul  to  be  so 
blind  !  You  can  do  everything,  Mr.  Ansted ; 
and,  moreover,  how  can  you  think  you  have 


BLIND.  217 

a  right  to  say  that  you  are  not  personally 
in  danger  from  the  same  source  ?  Men  as 
assured  in  position  and  as  strong  in  mental 
power  as  you  have  fallen  by  the  hundreds. 
Surely  you  know  that  there  is  no  safety 
from  such  a  foe  save  in  having  none  of 
him." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  In  that  we  would 
differ.  I  am  not  fanatical  in  this  matter. 
I  recognize  Harry's  danger,  but  I  recognize 
equally  that  I  am  built  in  a  different  mold, 
and  have  different  antecedents." 

"  And  have  no  responsibilities  connected 
with  him?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have,"  he  said  in  utmost 
good  humor  ;  "  I  assumed  responsibility  when 
I  came  here  to  ask  you  to  help  him.  It 
was  the  best  thing  I  could  think  of  to  do 
for  the  boy.  You  think  I  am  playing  a 
part,  but  upon  honor,  I  am  not.  I  know 
his  mother  is  anxious." 

She  wondered  afterward  whether  it  were 
not  an  unwise  question  to  ask,  but  said: 

"Is  not  your  mother  anxious,  Mr.  Ansted?" 

"  Not  in  the  least ! "  he  answered  smilingly. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

STARTING  FOR   HOME. 

IT  had  been  a  stormy  evening,  and  the 
little  company  of  busy  people  who  had 
gathered  in  the  church  for  a  rehearsal,  were 
obliged  to  plod  home  through  an  incipient 
snow-storm ;  but  they  were  in  happy  mood, 
for  the  most  successful  rehearsal  of  the  en 
terprise  had  been  held,  and  certain  develop 
ments  had  delighted  their  hearts. 

To  begin  with :  just  as  they  had  com 
pleted  a  difficult  chorus,  the  door  leading 
into  the  outside  world  had  opened  with  a 
decisive  bang,  and  there  had  been  an  ener 
getic  stamping  of  feet  in  the  little  entry, 
and  there  appeared  Alice  and  Louis  Ansted. 

There  was  still  on  Alice's  face  that  cu 
rious  mixture  of  superiority  and  discontent 

which    Claire    had   always    seen    in    her. 
218 


STARTING    FOR    HOME.  2IQ 

"  Here  we  are  !  "  she  said,  in  a  tone  that 
expressed  a  sort  of  surprise  with  herself  at 
the  idea.  "It  would  be  difficult  to  tell 
why.  Now,  what  do  you  want  of  me?" 

Claire  went  forward  to  meet  them,  her 
face  bright  with  welcome. 

"  Have  you  really  come  to  help  us  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  don't  know  why  else 
we  should  have  appeared  here  in  the  storm. 
It  is  snowing.  I  don't  mind  the  storm, 
though ;  only,  why  did  I  come  ?  I  don't 
know ;  if  you  do,  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me." 

"  Well,  I  do.  I  know  exactly.  You  came 
to  take  the  alto  in  this  quartette  we  are  ar 
ranging.  My  girls  were  just  assuring  me 
that  there  was  not  an  alto  voice  in  our 
midst  that  could  sustain  the  other  parts. 
What  do  you  say  now,  girls?" 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction  in 
her  tones.  It  amused  her  to  think  of  Ruth's 
discontented  grumble  but  a  moment  before : 

"  If  Alice  Ansted  did  not  feel  so  much 
above  us,  she  would  be  a  glorious  addition 


22O  INTERRUPTED. 

to  this  piece.  Miss  Benedict,  her  voice  is 
splendid.  I  don't  like  her,  but  I  would 
tolerate  her  presence  if  we  could  get  her  to 
take  the  alto  in  this." 

Then    Mary   B  urton  : 

"  Well,  she  won't ;  and  you  needn't  think 
of  such  a  thing."  It  was  at  that  moment 
that  the  door  had  opened,  and  she  came. 

Claire  went  at  once  to  the  organ,  and  the 
rehearsal  of  the  quartette  began. 

I  do  not  know  but  the  girls  themselves 
would  have  been  almost  frightened  had  they 
been  sufficiently  skilled  in  music  to  know 
what  a  rare  teacher  they  had.  Claire  Bene 
dict's  voice  was  a  special  talent,  God-given 
as  surely  as  her  soul.  Time  was  when  it 
had  been  one  of  her  temptations,  hard  to 
resist.  Such  brilliant  and  flattering  futures 
had  opened  before  her,  if  she  would  but 
consent  to  give  "  private  rehearsals."  There 
is  an  intoxication  about  extravagant  praise, 
and  Claire  had  for  weeks  been  intoxicated 
to  the  degree  that  she  could  not  tell  where 
the  line  was  drawn,  and  when  the  world 
stepped  in  and  claimed  her  as  its  special 


STARTING    FOR    HOME.  221 

prize.  It  was  then  that  the  keen,  clear- 
seeing  wise  and  tender  father  had  used  his 
fatherly  influence,  and  showed  her  the  net 
which  Satan  had  warily  spread.  She  had 
supposed  herself  secure,  after  that.  But 
when  the  great  financial  crash  came  upon 
them,  and  when  the  father  was  gone  where 
he  could  advise  and  shield  no  more,  there 
had  come  to  her  the  temptation  of  her  life. 
It  would  have  been  so  easy  to  have  sup 
ported  her  mother  and  sister  in  a  style 
somewhat  like  that  to  which  they  had  been 
accustomed ;  and  to  do  this,  she  need  not 
descend  in  any  sense  to  that  which  was  in 
itself  wrong  or  unladylike.  Those  who  would 
have  bought  her  voice  were  willing  that 
she  should  be  as  exclusive  as  she  pleased. 
But  for  the  clear-sightedness  of  the  father, 
in  those  days  when  the  other  temptations 
had  been  met,  she  would  surely  have  yielded 
to  the  pressure. 

She  came  off  victorious,  but  wounded. 
When  she  had  with  determined  face  turned 
from  all  these  flattering  offers,  and  entered 
the  only  door  which  opened  to  her  con- 


222  INTERRUPTED. 

science  —  this  one  at  South  Plains  —  she  had 
told  herself  that  three  hundred  dollars  a 
year  did  not  hire  her  voice.  So  much  of 
herself  she  would  keep  to  herself.  She  would 
do  no  singing,  either  in  public  or  private; 
not  a  note.  In  order  to  teach  even  vocal 
music,  it  was  not  necessary  to  exhibit  her 
powers  of  song.  That  sermon,  however,  had 
swept  this  theory  away,  along  with  many 
others.  It  is  true,  it  had  been  almost  ex 
clusively  about  the  church ;  but  you  will 
remember  that  it  had  dealt  with  the  con 
science  ;  and  the  conscience  awakened  on 
one  point,  is  far  more  likely  to  see  plainly 
in  other  directions.  When  next  the  subject 
of  song  presented  itself  to  her  mind,  Claire 
Benedict  was  somewhat  astonished  to  discover 
that  she  had  not  given  her  voice  when  she 
gave  herself.  She  had  not  known  it  at  the 
time,  but  there  had  evidently  been  a  mental 
reservation,  else  she  would  not  shrink  so 
from  using  her  powers  in  this  direction,  in 
this  her  new  sphere  of  life.  Some  earnest 
heart-searching  had  to  be  done.  Was  she 
vain  of  her  voice?  she  wondered,  that  she 


STARTING    FOR    HOME.  223 

was  so  unwilling  to  use  it  in  the  desolate 
little  sanctuary  at  South  Plains ;  that  she 
could  not  even  bring  herself  to  do  other 
than  peep  the  praises  of  God  in  the  school 
chapel.  It  was  a  revelation  of  self  that 
brought  much  humiliation  with  it.  It  was 
even  humiliating  to  discover  that  it  took  a 
long  and  almost  fierce  struggle  to  overcome 
the  shrinking  which  possessed  her.  It  was 
not  all  pride ;  there  was  a  relief  in  remem 
bering  that.  There  was  a  sense  in  which  her 
voice  seemed  to  belong  to  her  happy  and 
buried  past ;  something  which  her  father 
had  loved,  even  exulted  in,  and  which  had 
been  largely  kept  for  him.  But  this  thought 
of  her  father  helped  her.  There  was  never 
a  thought  connected  with  him  that  did  not 
help  and  strengthen.  He  would  not  have 
approved  —  no,  she  did  not  put  it  that  way, 
she  hated  those  past  tenses  as  connected 
with  him  —  he  did  not  approve  of  her  hid 
ing  her  talent  in  a  napkin ;  her  happiness 
should  not  be  labeled  "past;"  was  she  not 
in  God's  world?  was  she  not  the  child  of  a 
King?  was  not  heaven  before  her,  and  an 


224  INTERRUPTED. 

eternity  there,  with  her  father  who  had  just 
preceded  the  family  by  a  few  days?  Did 
she  grudge  him  that?  Was  it  well  for  her 
to  sit  down  weeping,  and  dumb,  because  he 
had  entered  the  palace  a  little  in  advance  ? 
From  this  heart-searching,  there  had  come 
another  victory;  and  if  Claire  Benedict  did 
not  say  in  so  many  solemn  words, 

Take  my  voice,   and  let  me  sing 
Always,  only,  for  my  King, 

she  nevertheless  consecrated  it  to  His  service, 
and  grew  joyful  over  the  thought  that  she 
had  this  talent  to  give. 

In  making  her  selections  for  the  coming 
concert,  she  had  with  rare  good  taste  kept 
in  mind  the  character  of  the  audience  which 
would  probably  gather  to  listen,  and  the 
capacities  of  her  helpers.  She  chose  simple, 
tender  melodies,  narrative  poems,  such  ns 
appeal  to  the  heart,  with  one  or  two  won 
derful  solos,  and  this  quartette,  which  was 
new  and  difficult,  but  full  of  power. 

They  sang  it  presently,  for  the  first  time; 
Claire  and  Alice  Ansted,  Harry  Matthews 


STARTING   FOR    HOME.  22  5 

and  a  friend  of  his  who  had  been  drawn  in 
for  the  occasion.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
even  her  girls  had  heard  Claire's  voice  in 
its  power. 

They  said  not  a  word  when  it  was  ended, 
but  they  looked  at  one  another  in  a 
startled  way,  and  presently  Ruth  Jennings 
apologized  in  under  tone  for  its  power  over 
her: 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  was  the 
matter  with  me.  I  never  cried  before  at 
the  sound  of  music.  I  have  read  of  people 
doing  it,  and  I  thought  it  rather  absurd,  but 
I  could  not  help  it.  Girls,  I  wonder  what 
the  Ansteds  think?" 

What  Alice  Ansted  thought  might  have 
been  expressed,  in  part,  in  her  first  aston 
ished  comment: 

"The  idea  of  your  singing  in  South 
Plains!" 

However,  she  said  more  than  that  in  the 
course  of  the  evening ;  said  things  which 
gave  Claire  much  more  pleasure.  For  in 
stance  : 

"How    horridly    out    of    order    that    little 


226  INTERRUPTED. 

wretch  is!  Why  don't  you  have  it  tuned? 
It  would  be  a  little  more  endurable  then  ; 
or,  at  least,  a  little  less  intolerable.  Our 
piano-tuner  is  coming  out  to-morrow,  and  I 
mean  to  send  him  down  here.  The  idea  of 
having  nothing  but  a  rickety  chair  for  a 
music-stool !  Louis,  what  has  become  of  that 
piano-stool  we  used  to  have  in  our  library 
in  town  ?  Did  you  store  it  with  the  other 
things?  Well,  just  bring  it  out  to-morrow. 
Miss  Benedict  will  get  another  fall  if  she 
depends  on  this  old  chair  any  longer.  What 
is  that  you  are  sitting  on?  A  pile  of  old 
music-books,  I  declare !  The  whole  thing  is 
disgraceful.  Miss  Benedict,  do  you  sing 
'  Easter  Bells  ? '  I  should  think  it  would 
just  fit  your  voice.  It  runs  so  high  that  I 
can  do  nothing  with  it ;  but  I  wouldn't 
mind  taking  the  alto  with  you.  Louis,  sup 
pose  you  bring  out  the  music  to-morrow, 
and  let  her  look  at  it." 

And  before  the  evening  was  over,  it  be 
came  evident  to  those  girls  that  Miss  An- 
sted  was  committed  to  the  concert,  at  least. 
They  were  half-jealous,  it  is  true.  They  had 


STARTING    FOR    HOME.  227 

enjoyed  having  their  prize  all  to  themselves. 
Still,  she  had  bloomed  before  them  that 
evening  into  such  an  unexpected  prize,  that 
they  were  almost  awed,  and  a  little  glad 
that  her  glorious  voice  should  have  such  an 
appropriate  setting  as  was  found  in  Alice 
Ansted ;  and  besides,  it  was  a  sort  of  a 
triumph  to  say :  "  Why,  the  Ansteds  are 
going  to  help  us  at  our  concert !  They  have 
never  sung  in  South  Plains  before ! '" 

Louis,  too,  contributed  something  besides 
his  fine  tenor  voice : 

"What  makes  your  stove  smoke  so,  Bud?" 
he  questioned. 

And  Bud  explained,  with  some  stammer 
ing,  that  there  was  something  wrong  about 
the  pipe ;  one  joint  did  not  fit  right  into 
another  joint  —  or,  as  he  expressively  stated 
it,  "  One  j'int  was  too  small,  and  t'other 
was  too  large,  and  so  they  didn't  work 
well." 

"I  should  say  not,"  said  Louis,  amused. 
"  The  wonder  is  that  they  work  at  all,  with 
such  a  double  difficulty  as  that  to  contend 
with.  Well,  Bud,  you  tell  Hawkins  to  come 


228  INTERRUPTED. 

in  to-morrow,  and  see  what  is  the  matter 
with  the  joints,  and  make  the  large  one 
small  and  the  small  one  large,  or  fix  it  in 
any  other  way  that  suits  his  genius,  so  that 
the  thing  won't  smoke,  and  send  his  bill  to 
me.  We  will  have  our  throats  all  raw  here, 
before  the  important  day  arrives." 

"  A  music-stool,  and  an  organ-tuner,  and  a 
new  elbow  for  the  stove-pipe,"  commented 
Ruth  Jennings,  in  a  complacent  tone,  as 
they  walked  home  in  the  snow.  "  The  An- 
steds  are  good  for  something  in  the  world, 
after  all." 

About  the  home-going  there  was  some  talk. 
Claire,  down  by  the  stove  adjusting  her  rub 
bers,  caught  the  watchful,  wistful  gaze  of 
Bud,  and  remembered  what  Ruth  had  said 
about  her  influence  over  him.  How  could 
she  exert  it  so  that  it  would  tell  on  Bud 
forever?  What  was  there  that  she  could  say 
to  him?  When  was  her  opportunity?  Right 
at  hand,  perhaps ;  she  would  try. 

"Bud,"  she  said,  "are  you  going  to  see 
me  home  through  this  snow-storm  ?  or  must 
you  make  haste  up  the  hill?" 


STARTING    FOR    HOME.  22Q 

It  gave  her  a  feeling  of  pain  to  see  the 
sudden  blaze  of  light  on  his  dark,  swarthy 
face.  What  a  neglected,  friendless  life  he 
must  have  led,  that  a  kind  word  or  two 
could  have  such  power  over  him ! 

"Me!"  he  said.  "Do  you  mean  it?  I'd 
like  to  carry  your  books  and  things,  and  I 
could  take  the  broom  and  sweep  along  be 
fore  you.  Might  I  go?  Oh,  I  haven't  got 
to  hurry.  My  work  is  all  done." 

She  laughed  lightly.  What  a  picture  it 
would  be  for  Dora,  could  she  see  her  plung 
ing  through  the  freshly-fallen  snow,  Bud  at 
her  side,  or  a  step  ahead,  with  a  broom ! 

"I  don't  need  the  broom,"  she  said;  "it 
has  not  snowed  enough  for  that ;  and  I  am 
prepared,  if  it  has ;  see  my  boots.  I  like 
the  snow.  You  may  carry  my  books,  please, 
and  we  will  have  a  nice  walk  and  talk. 
The  girls  are  all  ready  now,  I  think.  You 
put  out  the  lamps,  and  I  will  wait  for  you 
at  the  door." 

Out  in  the  beautiful,  snowy  world,  just 
as  Bud's  key  clicked  in  the  lock,  Louis  An- 
sted  came  up  to  Claire. 


23O  INTERRUPTED. 

"Miss  Benedict,  let  me  take  you  home  in 
the  sleigh.  I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you 
waiting  a  moment ;  but  my  blundering  driver 
had  something  wrong  about  the  harness,  and 
the  horses  were  fractious.  They  are  com 
posed  enough  now,  and  Alice  is  in  the 
sleigh.  Let  me  assist  you  out  to  it,  please." 

If  it  had  been  moonlight,  he  might  have 
seen  the  mischievous  sparkle  in  Claire's  eyes. 
It  was  so  amusing  to  be  engaged  to  Bud, 
while  his  master  held  out  his  hands  for 
her  books,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  poor 
Bud  stood  aside,  desolate  and  miserable. 
Evidently  he  expected  nothing  else  but  to 
be  left. 

Claire's  voice  rang  out  clear,  purposely  to 
reach  Bud's  ear: 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you,  Mr.  Ansted  !  I  am 
fond  of  walking ;  I  don't  mind  the  snow  in 
the  least,  and  I  have  promised  myself  the 
pleasure  of  a  walk  through  it  with  Bud. 
Thank  you ! "  as  he  still  urged,  "  my  ankle 
is  quite  well  again,  and  I  have  had  no  ex 
ercise  to-day ;  I  really  want  the  walk.  We 
thank  you  very  much  for  your  help  this 


STARTING    FOR    HOME.  2$  I 

evening,  Mr.  Ansted.  Good-night  f  Are  you 
ready,  Bud?" 

And  they  trudged  away,  leaving  the  dis 
comfited  gentleman  standing  beside  his  pawing 
horses. 

"It  is  some  absurd  idea  of  benefitting  Bud 
that  has  taken  possession  of  her,"  explained 
Alice,  as  the  sleigh  flew  by  the  two.  "She 
spoke  to  me  about  trying  to  help  him.  She 
is  just  as  full  of  queer  notions  as  she  can 
be.  The  idea  of  helping  Bud ! " 

But  the  master  of  the  horses  said  noth~ 
ing.  He  was  prepared  to  think,  but  not  to 
confess,  that  such  as  she  might  help  even 
Bud. 

That  young  man,  though  his  tread  was 
certainly  heavy  enough,  seemed  to  himself 
to  be  walking  on  air,  such  a  wonderful 
tiling  had  come  to  him  !  Years  and  years 
had  passed  since  anybody  had  spoken  to 
him,  save  in  short,  sharp  words,  to  give  an 
order  of  some  sort.  Now  this  one,  who 
said  u  Good-morning  !  "  and  "  Good-evening  !  " 
when  she  met  him,  as  pleasantly  as  she 
spoke  to  any,  who  had  asked  him  kind 


232  INTERRUPTED. 

questions  about  himself,  who  had  told  him 
that  the  stoves  were  very  clean,  and  that 
it  seemed  pleasant  to  have  the  church  warm, 
was  actually  letting  him  walk  home  with 
her  and  carry  her  books !  Poor  Bud  wished 
there  were  more  of  them,  and  that  they 
were  as  heavy  as  lead,  that  he  might  show 
how  gladly  he  carried  them  for  her  sake. 
She,  meantime,  was  wondering  how  she 
could  best  speak,  to  help  him  in  any  way. 

"  Don't  you  sing  at  all  ? "  she  asked,  her 
eyes  falling  on  the  pile  of  music-books,  and 
seizing  upon  the  question  as  a  way  of  open 
ing  conversation. 

"  Me ! "  said  Bud,  with  an  embarrassed 
laugh.  "  Oh,  no,  I  can't  sing,  any  more  than 
a  calf  can." 

"  But  you  like  music,  don't  you  ? "  She 
was  still  making  talk,  to  try  to  put  him  at 
his  ease. 

Bud  found  voice  then  for  some  of  the 
feeling  which  possessed  him. 

"  I  don't  like  most  folks'  music  a  bit ; 
but  I  like  the  kind  you  make,  I  do  so." 

He   spoke  with   tremendous    energy :     there 


STARTING    FOR    HOME.  233 

was  no  mistaking  the  intensity  of  his  con 
clusions.  Claire  laughed  a  little.  They  were 
not  getting  on  very  well. 

Bud's  musical  tastes  had  probably  not 
been  cultivated.  He  liked  the  music  that 
she  made,  because  the  same  voice  had  spoken 
kind  words  to  him.  Well,  in  that  case, 
what  would  he  think  of  the  music  of  the 
angels  ?  she  wondered. 

Some    of  the    thought   she   put   into  words: 

"  I'll  tell  you  where  you  will  like  the 
music,  Bud — when  you  get  to  heaven.  Did 
you  ever  try  to  think  what  that  singing 
would  sound  like  ?  " 

"  Me ! "  said  Bud  again,  and  this  time 
there  was  unutterable  amazement  in  his 
voice.  It  was  clear  that  the  idea  of  hearing 
the  music  of  heaven  had  never  dawned  on 
his  mind. 

Claire  replied  hesitatingly,  in  almost  a 
plaintive  tone.  The  desolation  of  a  soul 
that  had  no  heaven  to  look  to,  touched  her 
strangely  just  then: 

"  Bud,  you  are  going  there  to  hear  the 
music,  are  you  not  ?  " 


234  INTERRUPTED. 

"  I  reckon  not."  He  spoke  the  words 
gravely,  with  a  singularly  mournful  intona 
tion.  "  Heaven  ain't  for  such  as  me.  You 
see,  ma'am,  I'm  nothing  but  an  ignorant, 
blundering  fellow,  that  hadn't  never  ought 
to  have  been  born." 

"  Oh,  Bud !  I  am  so  sorry  to  hear  you 
speak  such  dreadful  words !  I  didn't  expect 
it  of  you.  Why,  don't  you  know  you  are 
the  same  as  saying  that  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  has  not  told  the  truth  ?  He  said  he 
came  to  earth  in  order  that  you  might  live 
forever  with  him  in  heaven,  and  he  loves 
you,  Bud,  and  is  watching  for  you  to  give 
yourself  to  him.  And  now,  you  even  say 
you  ought  not  to  have  been  made ! " 

"  I  didn't  mean  no  harm !  I  was  only  a- 
sayin'  what  I've  heard  folks  say  time  and 
time  again  about  me  ;  they  didn't  see  what 
I  was  made  for,  and  I  didn't  either." 

"  You  were  made  to  love  God,  and  to  do 
work  for  him,  and  to  live  with  him  forever 
in  his  beautiful  heaven.  If  you  don't  go 
there,  it  will  make  his  heart  sad.  Oh,  Bud, 
if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  treat  him  so ! " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

LOST  FRIENDS. 

I  NEVER  knew  nothing  about  it,"  Bud 
said,  earnestly.  "  I  never  heard  as  any 
body  cared  in  particular  what  became  of  me, 
only  so  that  I  got  out  of  folks'  way  and 
didn't  bother." 

"  Why,  Bud !  have  you  never  heard  the 
minister  urge  you  to  give  yourself  to 
Jesus  ?  " 

But   Bud    shook  his  head  energetically. 

"No  minister  never  spoke  to  me,"  he  said. 
"I  goes  to  church  every  once  in  a  while, 
because  I  gets  my  work  all  done,  and  don't 
know  what  else  to  do.  When  the  horses 
are  gone,  and  the  dog  is  gone,  I'm  awful 
lonesome  up  there,"  inclining  his  head  to 
ward  the  hill  up  which  the  Ansted  horses 
were  now  speeding,  "and  the  dog  alwayi 
235 


236  INTERRUPTED. 

goes  to  town  to  church,  along  with  the 
horses,  and  so  I  went  down  here  for  com 
pany  kind  of ;  but  the  minister  never  said 
nothing  to  me.  I've  listened  a  good  bit,  off 
and  on,  because  I  felt  lonesome,  and  did  not 
know  what  else  to  do ;  but  he  never  said 
nothing  about  me,  nor  told  me  a  body  cared. 
It  was  all  for  them  other  folks,  that  has 
homes  and  good  clothes." 

What  a  pitiful  story  was  this,  coming  up 
from  the  depths  of  the  great,  lonesome  heart, 
surrounded  on  every  hand  by  nominal  Chris 
tians!  Claire  could  not  keep  the  tears  from 
her  eyes,  and  dared  not  speak  for  a  moment, 
her  voice  was  so  full  of  them. 

"  Did  you  never  read  any  verses  in  the 
Bible  ? "  she  asked  at  last.  "  You  can  read, 
can't  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes'm,  I  can  read.  I  learned  how 
when  I  lived  with  Mr.  Stokes,  back  there 
in  the  country.  Little  Jack,  he  showed  me 
my  letters,  and  my  easy  readings,  and  all, 
and  I  could  read  to  him  quite  a  bit.  Jack 
wasn't  but  eight  years  old ;  but  he  was 
smart,  and  he  was  good,  and  he  died."  The 


LOST    FRIENDS.  237 

lonely  story  ended  with  a  sigh.  There  was 
evidently  a  memory  of  better  times  enjoyed 
in  the  dim  past. 

Claire  questioned  to  get  at  the  utmost  of 
his  knowledge : 

"  And  didn't  Jack  tell  you  anything  about 
Jesus  and  Heaven?" 

"  He  did  that,  ma'am.  He  talked  a  good 
deal  about  being  sent  for  to  go  there ;  and 
he  was,  too;  I  make  sure  of  that,  for  he 
went  away  sudden  in  the  night,  the  life 
did,  you  know,  and  he  had  a  smile  on  his 
face  in  the  morning,  just  as  he  looked  when 
he  was  very  glad  about  anything,  and  I  am 
about  sure  that  it  was  just  as  he  said  it 
would  be  about  the  angels  coming,  and  all ; 
and  he  used  to  think  they  would  come  for 
me,  too.  '  Your  turn  will  come,  Bud,'  he 
used  to  say  to  me.  He  was  a  little  fellow, 
you  see" — this  last  was  in  an  apologetic 
tone  —  "he  thought  the  world  of  Bud,  and 
he  thought  everybody  else  was  like  him, 
and  that  what  was  fixed  for  him  would  be 
fixed  for  Bud.  I  used  to  like  to  hear  him 
say  it,  because  he  was  a  little  fellow,  and 


238  INTERRUPTED. 

he  liked  me;  but  I  knew  that  what  was  for 
him  wasn't  for  me." 

"Bud,  you  are  mistaken.  Little  Jack  was 
right  about  it  all.  There  was  no  doubt  but 
that  the  angels  came  for  him,  and  they  will 
come  for  you,  if  you  want  to  go  where 
Jack  is.  Jesus  Christ,  Jack's  Saviour,  was 
the  one  who  told  him  to  tell  you  about  it." 

"Eh!"  said  Bud,  in  a  sort  of  stupid 
amaze.  "Did  you  know  Jack,  ma'am?" 

"No,  I  didn't  know  him,  but  I  know  his 
Saviour,  the  one  who  sent  for  him  to  go 
home  to  heaven ;  and  I  know  that  what  he 
told  you  is  true ;  for  the  same  one  has 
told  me  the  same  thing:  told  me  to  coax 
you,  Bud,  to  be  ready  to  go  where  little 
Jack  is.  Will  you?" 

"I'd  go  on  my  hands  and  knees  all  night 
through  the  woods  to  see  little  Jack  again, 
but  I  don't  know  the  way." 

"  Bud,  did  you  know  that  the  Bible  was 
God's  book,  and  told  all  about  Jack's  home, 
and  the  way  to  get  to  it?  Have  you  a 
^ible?" 

"  No,"   said    Bud,    slowly,    "  I    haven't    got 


LOST    FRIENDS.  239 

no    book    at    all.      I   never    had    no    book." 

What  desolation  of  poverty  was  this ! 
Claire  took  her  instant  resolution. 

"  Bud,  I  have  a  Bible  which  I  think  little 
Jack  and  little  Jack's  Saviour  want  me  to 
give  to  you  for  your  very  own.  I'll  get  it 
for  you  to-night,  and  then  I  want  you  to 
promise  me  that  every  day  you  will  read 
one  verse  in  it.  It  is  all  marked  off  into 
verses  —  and  will  you  begin  to-night?" 

"I  will  so,"  said  Bud,  with  a  note  of 
satisfaction  in  his  voice.  "I've  thought  a 
good  many  times  that  it  would  be  nice  to 
have  one  book ;  but  I  didn't  much  expect 
to,  ever.  Ill  read  in  it  this  very  night, 
ma'am." 

And  as  he  received  the  treasure  wrapped 
in  paper,  and,  tucking  it  carefully  under  his 
arm,  trudged  away,  Claire,  could  she  have 
followed  him,  would  have  found  that  every 
once  in  a  while,  during  that  long,  home 
ward  walk,  he  chuckled,  and  hugged  the 
book  closer. 

Claire  went  to  her  room,  and  to  her 
knees,  her  heart  full  for  Bud,  poor,  dreary, 


24O  INTERRUPTED. 

homeless  Bud !  If  he  could  be  made  to  un 
derstand  that  there  were  home  and  friends 
waiting  for  him !  If  she  had  only  had 
time  to  mark  a  few  of  the  verses,  some  of 
those  very  plain  ones,  over  the  meaning  of 
which  Bud  could  not  stumble !  She  was 
sorry  that  she  had  not  retained  the  book 
for  a  day  and  done  this  work.  It  was  too 
late  now.  She  could  only  pray  that  God 
would  lead  him  toward  the  right  verse. 
To-morrow  evening  she  would  ask  him  for 
his  Bible,  and  on  the  Sabbath  she  would  em 
ploy  her  leisure  moments  in  marking  such 
verses  as  he  ought  to  know. 

As  she  arose  from  her  knees,  a  letter  ly 
ing  on  her  table  caught  her  eye.  A  home 
letter,  from  Dora,  with  perhaps  a  few  lines 
in  it  from  mamma  herself.  She  seized  it 
like  a  hungry  child,  dropping  on  a  has 
sock  before  the  fire  to  enjoy  it.  Four  closely 
written  pages  from  Dora,  crossed  and  re- 
crossed,  after  the  fashion  of  schoolgirls,  who 
seem  to  be  provident  only  in  the  line  of 
note-paper. 

Claire    looked    at    it    lovingly,    and   laid    it 


LOST   FRIENDS.  24! 

aside  to  be  enjoyed  afterward.  Here  was  a 
scrap  from  mamma;  only  a  few  lines  on  a 
half-sheet  of  paper;  after  these  she  dived. 
Letters  from  Dora  were  delightful,  and 
could  wait;  the  heart  of  the  girl  was  home 
sick  for  mamma. 

It  was  over  the  last  page  of  Dora's  sheet 
that  she  lingered  the  longest. 

"  I  have  not  told  you  our  piece  of  news, 
yet.  We  have  moved.  We  kept  it  a  secret 
from  you,  mamma  and  I,  because  we  were 
sure  you  would  think  that  we  could  not 
do  such  a  thing  without  you ;  and  as  we 
were  well  aware  that  the  church  at  South 
Plains  could  not  spare  you — to  say  nothing 
of  the  school  —  we  determined  to  take  the 
burdens  of  life  upon  our  own  shoulders, 
and  give  you  nothing  to  worry  over,  until 
we  were  settled.  It  is  done,  and  we  are 
alive  and  comfortable ;  so  you  may  dismiss 
those  troubled  wrinkles  that  I  can  distinctly 
see  gathering  on  your  forehead. 

"  Now  for  the  reason  why :  the  same  law 
which  seems  of  late  to  have  taken  posses 
sion  of  us  —  necessity.  The  house  you  so 


242  INTERRUPTED. 

deftly  settled  us  in  was  sold,  and  three 
weeks'  notice  given  to  renters.  We  could 
have  held  them  for  a  longer  time,  as  Mr. 
Winfield  indignantly  told  us,  and  as  we 
very  well  knew,  for  you  know  how  papa 
held  that  house  for  the  Jones  family  when 
the  owner  said  they  must  vacate.  But 
what  was  the  use  ?  Mamma  said  she  would 
rather  move  at  once,  than  have  any  words 
about  it.  So  I  felt,  and  one  day  when  we 
went  out  hunting  the  proper  shade  of  cur 
tain  for  the  church  you  own,  we  hunted 
rooms  also.  Where  do  you  think  we  found 
them  ?  Within  a  square  of  our  old  home  i 
In  the  Jenkins  Block,  you  know.  They 
chanced  to  be  vacant,  because  the  former 
occupants  had  bought  a  place  on  the 
square,  and  gone  to  housekeeping  on  a 
larger  scale.  The  rent  is  the  same  as  that 
which  we  were  paying.  I  think  Mr.  Cleve 
land  made  his  conscience  somewhat  elastic 
in  arranging  it  so,  for,  while  the  rooms  are 
smaller  and  less  convenient  than  those  we 
vacated,  you  know  what  the  neighborhood 
is.  However,  he  offered  them  on  the  same 


LOST    FRIENDS.  243 

terms  we  were  then  paying,  and  of  course 
we  could  not  demur.  I  urged  the  taking 
of  them  at  once,  for  mamma's  sake;  for, 
though  I  think  with  you  that  the  farther 
we  are  away  from  the  old  home,  the  better, 
and  though  I  hate  every  spot  within  a  mile 
of  our  house,  still  I  could  see  that  mamma 
did  not  share  the  feeling.  There  were  old 
friends  for  whose  faces  she  pined.  Good 
old  friends,  you  know,  who  love  her  for 
herself,  and  not  for  the  entertainments  she 
used  to  give.  And  then  there  was  the  old 
church.  I  could  see  mamma's  face  brighten 
over  the  thought  of  being  there  once  more ; 
and  though  I  hate  that  too,  for  mamma's 
sake,  I  was  glad  that  we  listened  to  Dr. 
Ellis  again  last  Sabbath.  We  are  comforta 
bly  situated,  though  you  know,  better  than 
I  can  tell  you,  what  a  sort  of  mockery  it 
is  of  our  former  way  of  living ,  but  for 
mamma  I  think  it  will  be  better  in  every 
way,  and  she  is  the  one  to  be  considered. 
But  I  believe  in  my  heart  the  dear  woman 
thinks  I  wanted  to  come,  and  imagines 
that  that  is  why  she  consented  to  the  plan. 


244  INTERRUPTED. 

I  hope  she  does.  I  never  mean  to  let  her 
know  how  I  grind  my  teeth  over  it  all. 
Not  fiercely,  Claire ;  I  do  try  to  be  submis 
sive,  and  I  know  that  God  knows  what  is 
best,  and  that  papa  is  happy,  and  that  I 
must  not  wish  him  back ;  but  the  bearing 
it  is  very  bitter  all  the  time. 

"I  am  less  like  you  even  than  I  used  to 
be,  and  papa  said  I  was  to  try  to  be  more 
like  you. 

"  I  wonder  if  one  thing  that  I  have  to 
tell  will  surprise  you,  or  vex  you,  or  whether 
you  will  not  care  anything  about  it?  I 
have  held  my  pen  for  a  full  minute  to  try 
to  decide,  and  I  find  that  I  don't  know.  It 
is  something  that  has  hurt  me  cruelly,  but 
then  I  am  easily  hurt.  I  don't  want  to 
make  you  feel  as  I  do ;  but  if  you  care, 
you  ought  to  know,  and  if  you  don't  care, 
no  harm  can  come  of  my  telling  you. 

"  Claire,  I  used  to  think  in  the  old  days 
that  seem  to  have  been  fifty  years  ago,  that 
you  liked  Pierce  Douglass  rather  better 
than  the  other  young  men  who  used  to  be 
so  fond  of  coming  to  our  home;  and  I 


LOST    FRIENDS.  245 

thought  —  in  fact,  I  felt  almost  certain  — 
that  he  liked  you  better  than  he  did  any 
body  else.  Well,  he  has  returned ;  and 
only  yesterday  I  saw  him  on  Clark  Avenue. 
I  was  just  coming  down  Reubens  street, 
and  I  made  all  possible  haste,  because  I 
thought  it  would  be  so  pleasant  to  see  his 
familiar  face  once  more,  and  to  answer  his 
many  questions.  Besides,  I  presume  I  was 
silly,  but  I  thought  it  more  than  probable 
that  he  was  in  correspondence  with  you, 
and  would  have  some  news  of  you  to  give 
me.  I  called  to  him,  breathlessly,  as  I  saw 
he  was  about  to  enter  a  car,  and  I  thought 
more  than  likely  he  was  looking  for  our 
address.  '  Pierce,'  I  said ,  you  know  I  have 
called  him  Pierce  ever  since  I  was  a  little 
bit  of  a  girl,  and  lie  used  to  help  me  down 
the  seminary  stairs.  He  stopped  and  looked 
about  him,  and  looked  right  at  me,  and 
made  no  movement  toward  me,  though  I 
was  hastening  to  him.  '  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  you,'  I  said,  for  even  then  I  did  not 
understand.  And  then  he  spoke :  '  Miss 
Benedict,  is  it?  Why,  I  was  not  aware 


246  INTERRUPTED. 

that  you  were  in  the  city.  I  thought  I  had 
heard  of  a  removal.  I  trust  you  are  having 
a  pleasant  winter,  Miss  Benedict.  We  have 
a  good  deal  of  snow  for  this  region,  have 
we  not  ?  You  will  pardon  my  haste ;  I  had 
signaled  my  car  before  you  spoke.' 

"And  he  lifted  his  hat,  with  one  of  his 
graceful  bows,  and  sprang  in  and  was 
gone.  Yes,  I  pardoned  his  haste !  I  was 
glad  to  see  the  car  swing  around  the  cor 
ner.  I  was  burning  and  choking.  The 
idea  of  being  met  in  that  way  by  Pierce 
Douglass !  Only  six  months  since  he  called 
me  'little  Doralinda  Honora,'  and  begged. 
me  not  to  forget  to  mention  his  name  ten 
times  a  day  while  he  was  absent.  Claire,  I 
could  hardly  get  home,  my  limbs  trembled 
so.  Mamma  was  out  executing  one  of  your 
commissions,  and  I  was  glad,  for  I  was  not 
fit  to  see  her  for  hours. 

"  I  have  heard  to-day  that  Pierce  has 
been  in  town  for  six  weeks,  and  is  to  be 
married  in  the  spring  to  Emmeline  Van 
Antwerp.  Is  that  any  reason  why  he  should 
have  insulted  me?  I  am  certainly  willingr 


LOST    FRIENDS.  247 

that  he  shall  marry  whom  he  pleases,  if  he 
can  secure  her.  Claire,  do  you  remember 
how  Emmeline's  taste  in  dress  used  to  amuse 
him?  But  she  is  very  rich,  you  know;  at 
least,  she  is  an  only  daughter,  and  her 
father  has  not  failed.  How  does  Pierce 
know  but  that  in  six  months  it  will  be  Mr. 
Van  Antwerp's  turn  ? 

"  Well,  I  only  hope,  dear  Claire,  that  I 
was  utterly  and  entirely  mistaken  in  your 
friendship  for  that  man.  It  seems  to  me 
now  that  I  must  have  been ;  for,  with  so 
base  a  nature,  he  could  not  have  interested 
you. 

"  Oh,  Claire,  do  you  suppose  papa  knows 
of  all  these  little  stings  that  we  have  to 
bear  ?  I  can  hardly  see  how  he  can  be 
happy  in  heaven  if  he  does,  for  he  guarded 
us  all  so  tenderly.  Does  that  old  worn-out 
church  really  fill  your  heart  as  it  seems  to, 
so  that  you  can  be  happy  without  papa? 
That  is  wicked,  I  know,  and  if  you  are 
happy,  I  am  glad  you  are.  I  do  try  to 
shield  mamma,  and  she  is  like  you,  meek 
and  patient. 


248  INTERRUPTED. 

"  Good-night,  dear !  I  am  very  weary  of 
this  day.  I  am  going  to  try  to  lose  the 
memory  of  it  in  sleep." 

Claire  rose  up  from  reading  this  sheet, 
with  a  pale  face  out  of  which  the  brig] it- 
ness  was  strangely  gone.  It  seemed  a  cu 
rious  thing  to  her  afterward,  that  she  had 
thought  to  herself  while  reading  it :  "I  am 
glad  I  spoke  those  words  to  Bud ;  I  am  glad 
I  told  him  about  a  home  where  there  is 
nothing  but  brightness.  We  need  such  homes." 

She  went  about  with  a  slow  step,  setting 
the  little  room  to  rights,  arranging  the  fire 
for  the  night;  then  she  sat  down  and 
worked  over  her  class-book,  arranging  her 
averages  for  the  week.  She  had  not  meant 
to  do  that  work  on  that  evening,  but  she 
seized  upon  it  as  something  that  would 
keep  her  thoughts  employed.  She  did  not 
want  to  think. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  figures,  she 
pushed  the  book  from  her,  and  burj-ing 
her  face  in  her  hands,  said  to  her  heart  in 
a  determined  way :  "  Now,  what  is  the 
matter  ?  Why  do  I  not  want  to  look  this 


LOST    FRIENDS.  249 

thing  in  the  face  ?  What  is  wounded,  my 
pride  ? "  After  a  little  she  drew  a  long,  re 
lieved  breath,  and  sat  erect.  There  was 
no  need  in  covering  this  thing  away ;  it 
would  bear  looking  at. 

Dora  had  been  both  right  and  wrong. 
She  had  liked  him  better,  yes,  quite  a  little 
better  than  the  other  young  men  of  her  ac 
quaintance.  She  had  believed  in  him.  When 
financial  ruin  came  upon  them,  and  friends 
gathered  around  with  well-meant,  but  often 
blundering  words  of  sympathy,  she  had  com 
forted  herself  with  thinking  how  gracefully 
Pierce  Douglass  would  have  said  and  done 
these  things  had  he  been  at  home. 

When  the  burden  of  life  strained  heavily 
upon  her,  she  had  found  herself  imagining 
how  heartily  he  would  have  shouldered  some 
of  the  weights  that  another  could  carry,  and 
helped  her  through.  She  had  not  been  in 
correspondence  with  him.  He  had  asked  to 
write  to  her,  and  she  had,  following  her 
father's  gently-offered  suggestion,  assured  him 
that  it  would  be  better  not ;  he  was  not  to 
be  absent  many  months. 


25O  INTERRUPTED. 

Yet  during  these  weeks  at  South  Plains, 
she  had  often  told  herself  that  perhaps 
Pierce  would  write  a  line  for  friendship's 
sake.  He  would  know  that  a  letter  of  sym 
pathy  offered  at  such  a  time  would  be  very 
different  from  ordinary  correspondence.  Yet 
when  no  letter  came,  she  had  told  herself 
that  of  course  he  would  not  write ;  he  was 
too  thoroughly  a  gentleman  to  do  so  after 
she  had,  though  never  so  gently,  refused  to 
receive  his  letters.  Sometimes  it  was  this 
story,  and  sometimes  she  reminded  herself 
that  of  course  he  had  not  her  address ;  he 
would  not  like  to  inquire  for  it;  there  had 
been  nothing  in  their  friendship  to  warrant 
it  ;  when  he  reached  home,  and  met  Dora 
and  her  mother  again,  as  he  would  assuredly, 
s^ie  would  be  quite  likely  to  get  a  little 
message  from  him.  Not  a  thought  hud 
crossed  her  mind  but  that  he  would  hasten 
to  the  old  friends  to  offer  his  earnest  sym 
pathy  and  express  his  sorrow,  for  her  father 
had  been  a  friend  to  him.  Now  here  was 
the  end  of  it.  Six  weeks  in  town,  at;d 
nothing  to  say  to  Dora  but  a  comment 


LOST    FRIENDS.  2$  1 

about  the  snow !  If  he  had  said  ice,  it 
would  have  been  more  in  keeping.  Here 
was  a  shattered  friendship;  and  no  true 
heart  but  bleeds  over  such  wounds. 

Yet,  and  this  was  the  decision  which 
made  her  lift  her  head  again.  There  was 
wounded  pride,  certainly,  and  wounded  feel 
ing  ;  but  there  was  a  sense  in  which  it  did 
not  matter  how  Pierce  Douglass  met  her 
sister  on  the  street,  or  whom  he  married. 
She  had  not  known  it  before ;  there  had 
been  a  time  when  she  had  imagined  it 
otherwise ;  but  something  seemed  to  have 
come  into  her  life  since  her  brief  residence 
in  this  little  village,  which  made  her  clear- 
eyed.  She  knew  that  she  did  not  want  to 
marry  a  man  like  Pierce  Douglass.  She 
knew  that  had  he  come  to  her,  before  the 
revelations  of  this  letter,  and  asked  her  to 
share  his  name  and  home,  she  would  have 
been  grateful  and  sorrowful,  but  she  would 
certainly  have  said,  "I  can  not."  She  smiled 
a  little  as  she  recurred  to  Dora's  letter. 


INTERRUPTED. 


Had  the  old  church  won  her  heart?  Surely 
it  could  not  be  anything  else  in  South 
Plains!  Yes,  oh,  yes,  it  was  something  that 
she  had  found  at  South  Plains  ;  she  had 
been  lifted  up  into  daily  fellowship  with 
the  Lord.  She  was  learning  to  live  as 
"seeing  him  who  is  invisible,"  and  in  the 
light  of  his  daity  companionship  she  could 
not  come  into  close  relationship  with  such 
an  one  as  Pierce  Douglass,  a  man  who  did 
not  profess  allegiance  to  him. 

And  yet,  you  who  understand  the  intrica 
cies  of  the  human  heart  will  be  able  to 
see  how  the  letter  had  stung.  She  did  not 
want  to  marry  him,  but  she  wanted  to  re 
spect  him,  to  look  upon  him  as  a  friend  ; 
to  feel  that  he  cared  for  her,  and  not  for 
her  father's  millions.  It  was  bitter  to  feel 
that  here  was  yet  another  to  whom  friend 
ship  had  been  only  an  empty  name,  and  to 
wonder  how  many  more  there  were,  and 
because  of  him  to  have  less  faith  in  the 
world. 


LOST    FRIENDS.  253 

On  the  whole,  I  think  it  was  well  that 
at  last  she  cried.  They  were  healthy  tears; 
and  helped  to  wash  away  some  of  the  bit 
terness. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

*, 

SPREADING    NETS. 

THE  morning  found  her  her  own  quiet 
self.  Her  first  waking  thoughts  were 
of  Bud,  and  the  first  thing  she  did,  after 
her  toilet  was  made,  was  to  sit  down  and 
study  her  Bible  with  a  view  to  selecting 
some  verses  that  she  meant  to  mark  for 
Bud. 

All  day  she  went  about  her  many  duties 
with  a  quiet  heart.  Even  the  sting  of  a 
false  friendship  seemed  to  have  been  taken 
away.  In  the  afternoon,  she  refused  to  ride 
with  Mr.  Ansted,  on  the  plea  that  she  had 
a  music-lesson  to  give,  but  when  the  scholar 
failed  to  appear,  she,  in  nowise  discomfited, 
set  herself  to  the  answering  of  the  home 
letters.  A  long,  genial  letter  to  her  mother; 
longer  than  she  had  taken  time  for  of  late, 
254 


SPREADING   NETS.  .  2$$ 

fuller  of  detail  as  to  the  work  that  occu 
pied  hands  and  heart. 

Something  about  Bud,  his  lonely  life,  his 
one  tender  memory,  her  desire  that  he  might 
find  a  Friend  who  would  never  fail  him  ; 
her  wish  that  the  mother  would  remember 
him  when  she  prayed ;  her  longing  to  be 
in  a  faint  sense  a  helper  to  him,  as  her 
father  would  surely  have  been,  were  he  on 
the  earth.  "  I  cannot  do  for  him  what  papa 
would,"  so  she  wrote,  "  but  Christ  can  do 
much  more ;  and  it  gives  me  a  thrill  of 
joy  to  remember  that  he  is  not  only  in 
heaven  with  papa,  but  here,  watching  for 
Bud." 

A  detailed  account  of  the  last  evening's 
rehearsal,  and  the  new  recruits.  A  hint  of 
her  desire  to  lead  this  restless  Alice  into 
clearer  light  —  if,  indeed,  the  true  Light  had 
ever  shined  into  her  heart.  A  word  even 
about  Louis  Ansted :  "  Would  mamma  pray 
for  him,  too?  It  was  said  that  he  was  in 
danger  from  several  sources,  and  he  said  that 
his  mother  was  not  at  all  anxious  about 
him.  If  you  were  his  mother,"  so  she 


256  INTERRUPTED. 

wrote,  "you  would  be  anxious.  Be  a  mother 
to  him  for  Christ's  sake,  mamma  dear,  and 
pray  for  him,  as  I  am  afraid  his  own  mother 
does  not.  Still,  I  ought  not  to  say  that, 
for  she  is  a  member  of  the  church,  and  it 
may  be  that  her  son  does  not  know  her 
heart." 

To  Dora  there  was  but  a  scrap  of  paper: 
"  It  is  a  pity,  Doralinda  dear,  to  put  you 
off  with  this  little  torn  bit  of  paper,  but  I 
have  written  all  the  news  to  mamma,  which 
means  to  you,  too,  of  course,  and  this  bit 
is  just  large  enough  for  the  subject  about 
which  I  want  to  speak  to  you  alone.  Don't 
worry,  little  sister,  about  me,  nor  about 
Pierce  Douglass'  treatment  of  me  or  of  you ; 
if  his  manliness  can  afford  such  a  slight  as 
he  gave  you,  we  certainly  can  afford  to 
bear  it.  In  a  sense,  it  was  hard  ;  but  much 
harder,  I  should  think,  for  him  than  for  us. 
"  No,  little  Dora ;  the  church  here  has 
not  my  whole  heart,  though  I  will  own  that 
a  large  piece  of  it  has  gone  out  to  the 
dreary  little  sanctuary  so  sadly  in  need  of 
a  human  friend  —  for  the  Lord  will  not  do 


SPREADING  NETS.  257 

what  his  people  ought  to  do,  you  know ; 
but  I  will  tell  you  who  is  filling  my  heart, 
and  keeping  me  at  rest  and  happy :  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Not  happy  without 
papa,  but  happy  in  the  sure  hope  of  meet 
ing  him  again,  and  never  parting  any  more. 
Don't  you  remember,  dear,  there  can  never 
be  another  parting  from  papa?  Some  sorrow 
ful  places  there  may  be  for  your  feet  and 
mine  on  our  journey  home ;  but  so  far  as 
papa  is  concerned,  there  will  be  no  more 
need  for  tears.  Bear  the  thorns  of  the  way, 
little  sister,  in  patience,  for  they  are  only 
on  the  way  through  the  woods ;  not  a  thorn 
in  the  home. 

"  I  trust  you  will  be  so  brave  as  to  dis 
miss  Pierce  Douglass  from  your  thoughts; 
unless,  indeed,  you  take  the  trouble  to  ask 
him  for  what  he  will  let  us  have  some 
handsome  chairs  for  the  pulpit !  I  remember 
at  this  moment  that  his  money  is  invested 
in  furniture.  But  perhaps  you  will  not  like 
to  do  that,  and  he  might  not  let  us  have 
them  at  any  lower  rates  than  we  could  se 
cure  elsewhere.  Good-by,  darling,  brave, 


258  INTERRUPTED. 

lonely  sister.  I  both  laughed  and  cried  over 
your  letter,  though  the  tears  were  not  about 
the  things  you  thought  would  move  them." 

She  folded  and  addressed  this  letter  with 
a  smile.  No  need  to  tell  this  sensitive  fierce- 
hearted  Dora  that  the  wound  rankled  for  a 
time,  and  did  not  bring  tears  only  because 
it  was  too  deep  for  tears. 

Yet  assuredly  her  heart  was  not  broken 
over  Pierce  Douglass. 

The  letter  sealed  and  laid  aside,  an  un 
employed  half-hour  lay  before  her ;  not  that 
there  was  not  plenty  to  do,  but  that  curi 
ous  aversion  to  setting  about  any  of  it, 
which  busy  workers  so  well  understand^  came 
over  her  in  full  force.  A  sort  of  unreason 
able  and  unreasoning  desire  that  the  hour 
might  be  marked  by  something  special  hov 
ered  around  her.  She  stood  at  the  window 
and  looked  out  on  the  snow,  and  watched 
the  sleighs  fly  past.  A  sleigh-ride  would  be 
pleasant.  Why  could  she  not  have  known 
that  her  music-scholar  was  to  disappoint  her, 
and  so  had  the  benefit  of  a  ride? 

Possibly    she    might    have    said   a   word    in 


SPREADING    NETS.  259 

season  to  Louis  Ansted,  though  there  was 
about  her  the  feeliug  that  he  was  not  ready 
for  the  word  in  season,  and  would  make 
poor  use  of  it.  Perhaps  the  Master  knew 
that  it  was  better  left  unsaid,  and  so  had 
held  her  from  the  opportunity ;  but  she 
longed  to  do  something. 

A  sleigh  was  stopping  at  the  Academy. 
The  young  man  who  sprang  out  and  pres 
ently  pealed  the  bell,  was  Harry  Matthews. 
Did  he  want  her?  she  wondered,  and  was 
this  her  special  opportunity  ?  No,  he  only 
wanted  a  roll  of  music,  to  study  the  part 
which  he  was  to  sing  ;  but  on  learning  that 
the  teacher  was  in,  and  at  leisure,  he  came 
to  her  in  the  music-room,  and  asked  ques 
tions  about  this  particular  song,  and  about 
the  rehearsal,  and  asked  to  have  the  tenor 
played  for  him,  and  as  he  bent  forward  to 
turn  the  music,  the  breath  of  wine  floated 
distinctly  to  her.  Was  this  an  opportunit}'  ? 
Was  there  something  that  she  might  say, 
and  ought  to  say  ? 

It  was  Louis  Ansted's  belief  that  this 
young  man's  special  danger  lay  in  this  di- 


26O  INTERRUPTED. 

section ;  but  what  a  delicate  direction  it  was 
to  touch  ! 

He  thanked  her  heartily  for  the  help 
which  she  had  given  him  about  the  difficult 
part,  and  in  that  brief  time  her  resolution 
was  taken : 

"  Now,  do  you  kngw  there  is  something 
that  I  want  you  to  do  for  me  ? " 

No,  he  did  not  know  it,  but  was  delighted 
to  hear  it.  Miss  Benedict  was  doing  so 
much  for  them  all,  that  it  would  certainly 
be  a  great  pleasure  to  feel  that  he  could  in 
any  way  serve  her.  He  wished  he  could  tell 
her  how  much  he  and  some  of  the  other 
boys  appreciated  this  opportunity  to  study 
music.  There  had  never  been  any  good  sing 
ing  in  South  Plains  before. 

There  was  a  flush  on  Claire's  cheeks  as 
she  replied,  holding  forward  a  little  book  at 
the  same  time. 

It  would  serve  me.  She  could  think  of 
scarcely  anything  else,  so  easily  done,  that 
would  give  her  greater  pleasure  than  to  have 
him  write  his  name  on  her  pledgebook ;  she 
had  an  ambition  to  fill  every  blank.  There 


SPREADING   NETS.  26l 

was  room  for  five  hundred  signers,  and  she 
and  her  sister  at  home  were  trying  to  see 
which  could  get  their  pledge-book  filled 
first.  Would  he  give  her  his  name  ? 

And  so,  to  his  amazement  and  dismay, 
was  Harry  Matthews  brought  face  to  face 
with  a  total  abstinence  pledge.  What  an 
apparently  simple  request  to  make !  How 
almost  impossible  it  seemed  to  him  to  com 
ply  with  it ! 

He  made  no  attempt  to  take  the  little 
book,  but  stood  in  embarrassment  before  it. 

"Isn't  there  anything  else?"  he  said,  at 
last,  trying  to  laugh.  "  I  hadn't  an  idea 
that  you  would  ask  anything  of  this  sort. 
I  can't  sign  it,  Miss  Benedict;  I  can't  really, 
though  I  would  like  to  please  you." 

"  What  is  in  the  way,  Mr.  Matthews  ? 
Have  you  promised  your  mother  not  to  sign 
it?" 

The  flush  on  his  cheek  mounted  to  his 
forehead,  but  still  he  tried  to  laugh  and 
speak  gayly. 

"  Hardly !  my  mother's  petitions  do  not 
lie  in  that  direction.  But  I  really  am  prin* 


262  INTERRUPTED. 

cipled  against  signing  pledges.  I  don't  be 
lieve  in  a  fellow  making  a  coward  of  him 
self  and  hanging  his  manhood  on  a  piece  of 
paper." 

This  was  foolish.  Would  it  do  to  let  the 
young  fellow  know  that  she  knew  it  was  ? 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  bonds,  or 
mortgages,  or  receipts,  or  promises  to  pay, 
of  any  sort  —  not  even  bank-notes  !  " 

He   laughed   again. 

"  That   is   business,"   he   said. 

"  Well,"  briskly,  "  this  is  business.  I  will 
be  very  business-like.  What  do  you  want 
me  to  do,  give  you  a  receipt  ?  Come,  I 
want  your  name  to  help  fill  my  book,  and 
I  am  making  as  earnest  a  business  as  I 
know  how,  of  securing  names." 

"Miss  Benedict,  I  am  not  in  the  least 
afraid  of  becoming  a  drunkard." 

"  Mr.  Matthews,  that  has  nothing  what 
ever  to  do  with  the  business  in  hand.  What 
I  want  is  your  name  on  my  total  abstinence 
pledge.  If  you  do  not  intend  to  be  a 
drinker,  you  can  certainly  have  no  objection 
to  gratifying  me  in  this  way." 


SPREADING    NETS.  263 

"Ah!  but  I  have.  The  promise  trammels 
me  unnecessarily  and  foolishly.  I  am  often 
thrown  among  people  with  whom  it  is 
pleasant  to  take  a  sip  of  wine,  and  it  does 
no  harm  to  anybody." 

"  How  can  you  be  sure  of  that  ?  There 
are  drunkards  in  the  world,  Mr.  Matthews ; 
is  it  your  belief  that  they  started  out  with 
the  deliberate  intention  of  becoming  such, 
or  even  with  the  fear  that  they  might?  or 
were  they  led  along  step  by  step  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  that ;  but  I  assure  you 
I  am  very  careful  with  whom  I  drink  liquor. 
There  are  people  who  seem  unable  to  take 
a  very  little  habitually ;  they  must  either 
let  it  alone,  or  drink  to  excess.  Such  peo 
ple  ought  to  let  it  alone,  and  to  sign  a 
pledge  to  do  so.  I  never  drink  with  any 
such ;  and  I  never  drink,  any  way,  save 
with  men  much  older  than  I,  who  ought  to 
set  me  the  example  instead  of  looking  to 
me,  and  who  are  either  masters  of  them 
selves,  or  too  far  gone  to  be  influenced  by 
anything  that  I  might  do." 

Was    there     ever    such    idiotic     reasoning ! 


264  INTERRUPTED. 

But  the  young  man  before  her  was  very 
young,  and  did  not  know  his  own  heart, 
much  less  understand  human  nature.  He 
was  evidently  in  earnest,  and  would  need 
any  amount  of  argument  —  would  need,  in 
deed,  a  much  better  knowledge  of  himself  — 
before  she  could  convince  him  of  his  false 
and  dangerous  position  ;  and  her  opportu 
nity,  if  it  were  one,  was  swiftly  passing. 
What  was  there  that  she  could  accomplish 
here  and  now  ?  Since  he  was  in  such  a 
state  of  bewilderment  as  to  logic,  she  re 
solved  to  lay  a  delicate  little  snare  for  his 
feet. 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  that  you  will  not  sign 
my  pledge.  I  do  not  like  your  arguments ; 
I  think  they  are  painfully  weak.  I  wish  at 
your  leisure  you  would  look  into  them  care 
fully,  and  see  if  you  think  them  worthy  of 
lodgment  in  an  honest  mind.  But  in  the 
meantime,  there  is  something  else.  This 
little  favor  that  I  am  about  to  ask,  will  you 
promise  to  grant  ?  " 

The  young  man  looked  immensely  relieved. 
He  had  not  expected  her  to  abandon  the 


SPREADING    NETS.  265 

ground  so  promptly ;  he  had  been  on  the 
verge  of  pleading  fear  lest  his  horse  was 
restive,  and  so  breaking  away  from  the  em 
barrassment.  He  tumbled  eagerly  into  the 
pretty  net.  What  could  she  ask  that  would 
not  be  easy  enough,  now  that  the  total  ab 
stinence  pledge  was  out  of  the  way?  He 
could  think  of  nothing  else  that  a  lady  such 
as  Miss  Benedict  certainly  was,  could  ask, 
which  would  not  be  comparatively  easy  of 
accomplishment. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  that  way  of  doing 
business,"  he  said,  looking  wise,  and  smiling 
down  on  her  in  a  superior  way.  "As  a  rule, 
I  promise  nothing  with  my  eyes  shut ;  but 
I  am  sure  to  be  able  to  trust  you,  and  I 
will  try  to  do  anything  else  that  you  ask 
of  me,  if  only  to  prove  how  sincere  I  am 
in  my  desire  to  please." 

"  It  is  a  very  good  rule,  as  a  rule,"  she 
said,  quickly  ;  "  I  would  not  violate  it  often  ; 
but  this  is  easy  enough  to  do  ;  I  want  your 
signature  to  that." 

She  turned  the  leaves  rapidly,  and  pointed 
to  a  few  lines  in  the  bvick  part  of  the  lit- 


266  INTERRUPTED. 

tie  book.  Two  signatures  were  appended ; 
but  the  astounding  words  that  arrested  the 
young  man's  attention  were  these : 

"  I  promise  that  within  twenty-four  hours 
after  I  have  taken  a  taste  of  anything  that 
will  intoxicate,  I  will  report  the  same,  either 
in  person  or  by  letter,  to  my  friend,  Miss 
Benedict." 

The  hot  blood  spread  all  over  the  face 
of  the  gay  boy  before  her,  as  he  read  and 
re-read  this  singular  pledge. 

"  I  am  fairly  caught,"  he  said  at  last,  in 
a  constrained  voice,  "  and  in  a  way  that  I 
least  expected.  May  I  ask  you  what  possi 
ble  good  it  can  do  you  to  burden  yourself 
with  such  senseless  confidences  as  these  ? " 

"  You  are  right,"  she  said,  "  they  are  con 
fidences.  I  should  not  have  shown  you  the 
book  if  I  were  not  sure  that  the  names 
there  are  utterly  unknown  to  you,  and  will 
be  likely  always  to  remain  so.  I  had  a  good 
motive,  and  the  effort  resulted  in  good.  So 
much  you  must  believe  on  trust.  But  I  did 
not  mean  to  catch  you  —  at  least,  not  in  the 
way  you  mean  —  and  to  prove  it,  I  will  re- 


SPREADING  NEls.  267 

lease  you  from  your  promise.  I  judged  frota 
what  you  told  me  that  you  would  not  con 
sider  it  a  bard  one." 

She  was  speaking  with  cold  dignity  now. 
She  was  willing  that  he  should  not  sign 
this  pledge  if  he  wished  to  be  released.  If 
only  his  unwillingness  to  sign  would  lead 
him  to  think  on  what  dangerous  ground  he 
stood,  part  of  her  object  would  have  been 
attained. 

But  no,  his  pride  was  roused  now,  and 
came  to  the  rescue.  He  refused  to  be  re 
leased.  Since  she  chose  to  burden  herself 
in  this  way,  he  was  quite  willing,  and 
should  certainly  add  his  name.  This  he 
did  with  a  flourish,  trying  to  be  gay  again, 
and  went  away  assuring  her  that  he  was 
sorry  for  her,  for  he  always  kept  a  pledge. 

After  he  was  gone,  she  tormented  herself 
as  to  whether  she  had  done  wisely.  She 
was  more  than  doubtful.  Those  two  other 
names  had  been  written  by  friendless  and 
sorely-tempted  boys,  who  distrusted  them 
selves  and  their  resolutions  to  such  an  extent 
that  she  had  devised  this  little  plan  for 


268  INTERRUPTED. 

helping  them  up  from  the  depths  of  despair. 
They  were  gone  now,  both  of  them,  where 
stronger  arms  than  hers  upheld  them,  where 
tliey  were  forever  safe  from  falling ;  and 
Harry  Matthews'  knowledge  of  their  names 
could  harm  no  one.  But  Harry  was  of  a  differ 
ent  world.  Had  she  been  foolish  in  thus  almost 
stealing  his  promise  ?  He  had  not  taken  it 
as  she  had  thought  he  would.  She  had  be 
lieved  him  to  be  gayly  indifferent  to  his 
habits  in  this  direction ;  she  had  believed 
that  he  was  unaware  how  frequently  he 
accepted  business  invitations  of  this  charac 
ter. 

On  the  whole,  she  was  more  than  doubt 
ful  as  to  the  unusual  work  done  in  this 
leisure  half-hour,  and  looked  with  appre 
hension  rather  than  pleasure  at  the  name 
in  her  book.  Nevertheless,  she  prayed  over 
it  as  she  had  been  wont  to  do  for  those 
who  were  gone  now.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  ask  Him  who  never  made  mis 
takes,  to  overrule  hers,  if  it  was  a  mistake, 
arid  use  it  in  some  way  for  his  glory.  This1 
rested  her.  It  was  so  wonderful  to  remem- 


SPREADING    NETS.  269 

her  that  He  could  make  even  mistakes  serve 
him  ! 

Meantime,  Bud !  The  little  lamp  which 
belonged  to  his  quarters  over  the  stable, 
was  left  wholly  to  his  care,  and  he  did  not 
get  the  best.  He  often  stumbled  his  way  to 
bed  in  the  dark,  rather  than  take  the  trouble 
of  filling  the  lamp  in  the  daytime.  But  to 
night,  with  his  treasure  under  his  arm,  he 
rejoiced  to  remember  that  part  of  his  morn 
ing  work  had  been  to  fill  that  lamp  and  put 
it  in  unusual  order.  It  was  with  satisfaction 
that  he  lighted  and  set  it  on  the  inverted 
barrel  that  he  had  improvised  for  a  table. 
He  was  to  read  a  verse  in  a  book  ! 

He  had  little  knowledge  as  to  whether 
the  verses  were  long  or  short,  whether  it 
would  take  until  midnight  or  longer  to  read 
one,  and  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  his 
promise.  He  reflected  that  the  lamp  was 
full,  and  resolved  that  as  long  as  it  would 
burn  he  would  work  at  the  verse,  if  neces 
sary.  But  where  to  begin  ?  What  a  big  book 
it  was !  If  Clare  had  but  marked  a  verse 
for  him  as  she  had  planned !  Well,  what 


2/0  INTERRUPTED. 

then?  It  would  not  have  been  likely  to 
have  been  the  one  over  which  he  stopped 
at  random,  and  slowly  spelled  out,  going 
back  over  each  word  until  he  had  the  sen 
tence  complete :  "  As  one  whom  his  mother 
comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you,  and  ye 
shall  be  comforted  in  Jerusalem."  What  a 
verse  for  poor,  ignorant,  blundering  Bud  ! 
Might  it  not  as  well  have  been  in  Greek  ? 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BUD    IN    SEARCH    OF    COMFOKT. 

LET  me  tell  you  that  sentences  which 
you  believe  will  be  as  Greek  to  cer 
tain  souls,  are  sometimes  fraught  with  won 
derful  meaning,  because  of  an  illumination 
about  which  you  know  nothing.  It  was  so 
with  Bud. 

Back  in  his  memory  of  those  bright  days 
when  little  Jack  was  still  in  the  flesh,  were 
certain  scenes  standing  out  vividly.  Little 
Jack  had  a  mother,  a  good,  fat,  motherly, 
commonplace  sort  of  woman,  with  no  knowl 
edge  of,  or  care  for,  Bud,  beyond  the  fact 
that  she  wanted  him  always  to  have  enough 
to  eat  and  a  comfortable  place  in  which  to 
sleep,  and  was  glad  that  little  Jack  liked 
him  so  well,  simply  because  it  was  a  lik 
ing  that  gave  little  Jack  pleasure.  This  was 
271 


2/2  INTERRUPTED. 

all  that  she  would  have  been  to  you ;  but 
to  Bud  she  would  have  served  for  his  ideal 
of  an  angel,  had  he  known  anything  about 
angels. 

She  was  little  Jack's  mother,  and  she  was 
motherly,  and  Bud  had  never  seen  a  moth 
erly  woman  before ;  perhaps,  after  all,  you 
get  an  idea  of  why  she  was  glorified  iu  his 
eyes.  His  own  mother  slept  in  a  neglected 
grave,  when  Bud  was  five  years  old,  but 
after  he  came  to  live  at  little  Jack's,  he 
had  lain  awake  nights  to  think  how  she 
would  have  looked,  and  acted,  and  spoken, 
had  she  been  alive.  And  she  always  looked 
to  him  like  this  one  motherly  pattern.  How 
Bud  longed  for  her,  for  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  for  the  touch  of  her  hand,  only  he 
could  have  told  you.  Little  Jack  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  running  to  mother  with  every 
disappointment,  every  grievance,  every  pain. 
He  had  never  been  a  healthy,  rollicking,  self- 
reliant  boy,  but  a  gentle,  tender  one,  to  be 
shielded  and  petted ;  and  Bud  had  heard 
again  and  again,  and  again  these  words, 
spoken  oh'  so  tenderly,  that  the  memory  of 


BUD   IN   SEARCH    OF    COMFORT.  2/3 

them  now  often  brought  the  tears :  "  Poor 
little  Jack !  mother  will  comfort  him ! "  and 
the  words  were  accompanied  with  a  gesture 
that  framed  itself  in  Bud's  heart  —  the  en 
veloping  of  little  Jack's  frail  form  within  two 
strong  motherly  arms,  suggestive  to  the  boy 
of  boundless  power  and  protect! veness.  Could 
words  better  fitted  to  meet  Bud's  heart  have 
been  marked  in  his  Bible  ?  Would  Claire 
Benedict  have  been  likely  to  have  marked 
that  particular  verse  for  him? 

It  is  a  truth  that  a  certain  class  of  Chris 
tian  workers  need  to  ponder  deeply,  that 
when  we  have  done  our  best,  according  to 
the  measure  of  our  opportunities,  we  may 
safely  leave  the  Holy  Spirit  to  supplement 
our  work. 

The  next  morning,  Bud  thoughtfully  rub 
bed  the  shining  coats  of  the  horses,  his 
mind  awake  and  busy  with  a  new  problem. 
What  did  the  verse  mean,  that  he  had  read 
so  many  times,  that  now  it  seemed  to  glow 
before  him  on  the  sun-lighted  snow?  He  had 
wakened  in  the  night  and  wondered.  What 
could  it  mean  ?  Not  that  he  did  not  under- 


2/4  INTERRUPTED. 

stand  some  of  it ;  he  was  too  unenlightened 
to  imagine  that  plain  words  could  mean 
other  than  they  said. 

It  had  not  so  much  as  occurred  to  him 
that,  because  they  were  in  the  Bible,  they 
must  necessarily  have  some  obscure  meaning 
utterly  foreign  to  what  they  appeared  to 
say. 

Such  logic  as  that  is  only  the  privilege 
of  certain  of  the  educated  classes !  Bud 
knew  then,  what  some  of  the  sentence 
meant.  Somebody  was  to  be  comforted  by 
somebody,  and  the  way  it  was  to  be  done 
was  as  a  mother  would  do,,  and  Bud,  be 
cause  of  little  Jack  in  heaven,  knew  how 
that  was.  Oh,  little  Jack !  living  your  short 
and  uneventful  life  here  below,  and  oh  ! 
commonplace,  yes,  somewhat  narrow-minded 
mother !  bestowing  only  the  natural  instincts 
of  the  mother-heart  on  your  boy  —  both  of 
you  were  educating  a  soul  for  the  King's 
palace,  and  you  knew  it  not ! 

How  wonderful  will  the  revelations  of 
heaven  be,  when  certain  whose  lives  have 
touched  for  a  few  days  and  then  separated, 


BUD    IN    SEARCH    OF    COMFORT.  2/5 

shall  meet,  in   some  of  the  cycles  of  eternity, 
and   talk   things    over! 

Who  but  the  Maker  of  human  hearts 
could  have  planned  Bud's  education  in  this 
way? 

Well,  he  knew  another  thing.  The  Com 
forter  promised  must  be  Jesus ;  for  had  not 
she,  that  only  other  one  who  had  spoken  to 
him  in  disinterested  kindness,  said  that  Jesus, 
the  same  Jesus  who  had  been  so  much  to 
little  Jack,  was  waiting  for  him,  and  wanted 
him  to  come  up  to  heaven  where  Jack 
was?  And  if  Jesus  could  do  such  great 
things  for  Jack,  and  really  wanted  him 
could  he  not  plan  the  way?  Bud  believed 
it.  To  be  shown  the  way  to  reach  such  a 
place  as  Jack  told  of,  and  to  be  made 
ready  to  enter  there  when  he  should  reach 
the  door,  would  certainly  be  comfort  enough. 
He  could  almost  imagine  that  One  saying  to 
the  little  hurts  by  the  way:  "Never  mind, 
Bud;  it  will  be  all  right  by  and  by."  That 
was  what  the  mother  used  cheerily  to  say 
sometimes  to  little  Jack,  and  the  verse 
read,  "as  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth." 


2/6  INTERRUPTED. 

You   see   how   the   photographs  of  his   earlier 
years    were   educating  Bud. 

But  there  was  one  thing  shrouded  in  ob 
scurity.  This  "comforting"  was  to  be  done 
at  Jerusalem.  Now  what  and  where  was 
Jerusalem  ?  Poor  Bud !  he  had  "  never  had 
no  book,"  you  will  remember,  and  his  knowl 
edge  of  geography  was  limited  indeed.  He 
knew  that  this  village  which  had  almost 
bounded  his  life  was  named  South  Plains ; 
and  he  knew  that  back  in  the  country 
among  the  farms  was  where  little  Jack  had 
lived,  and  he  knew  the  name  of  the  city 
that  lay  in  the  opposite  direction;  none  of 
these  were  Jerusalem.  Bud  did  not  know, 
however,  but  that  the  next  city,  or  town, 
or  even  farming  region  might  answer  to  that 
name,  and  might  be  the  spot  to  which 
those  who  would  have  comfort  were  directed. 
Little  Jack  might  have  lived  there,  for  aught 
that  he  knew;  they  came  from  some  other 
place  to  the  farm,  Miss  Benedict  might  be 
from  there,  in  which  case  she  would  know 
how  to  direct  him !  I  want  you  to  take 
special  notice  of  one  thing.  It  lay  clear  as 


BUD  IN  SEARCH  OF  COMFORT.      2/7 

sunlight  in  the  boy's  ignorant  mind.  To  Je 
rusalem  he  meant  to  go.  And  as  to  time : 
just  as  soon  as  he  possibly  could,  he  should 
start.  As  to  how  he  should  manage  by  the 
way,  or  what  he  should  do  after  he  reached 
that  country,  he  made  no  speculations;  the 
road  was  too  dark  for  that.  All  that  he 
was  sure  of  was  that  he  would  start. 

"I  wouldn't  miss  of  little  Jack  for  any 
thing,"  he  said,  rubbing  with  energy ;  "  and 
as  for  the  'comforting,'  if  that  can  be  for 
me  —  and  she  said  so — why,  I'd  go  till  I 
dropped,  to  find  it." 

A    clear   voice    broke  in    on     his   thoughts : 

"  Bud,  mamma  wants  the  light  carriage 
and  the  pony  to  be  ready  to  take  her  to  the 
12.20  train." 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Bud,  and  he  had  as  yet 
not  a  thought  of  saying  anything  else. 

But  Miss  Alice  lingered  and  watched  the 
rubbing  ;  not  that  she  was  interested  in  that, 
or,  indeed,  was  thinking  about  it  at  all.  She 
was  watching  Bud,  and  thinking  of  him. 
What  did  Claire  Benedict  find  in  him  to  in 
terest  her  ?  What  did  she  suppose  that  she. 


2/8  INTERRUPTED. 

Alice  Ansted,  could  do  to  help  him  ?  The 
idea  seemed  fully  as  absurd  as  it  had  when 
first  suggested. 

As  if  the  boy  had  an  idea  above  the  horse 
he  was  rubbing  so  carefully !  He  did  not 
look  as  intelligent  as  the  animal.  She  had 
often  wondered  what  the  horses  thought 
about,  as  they  trotted  along.  What  did  Bud 
think  about  as  he  rubbed?  Did  he  think 
at  all? 

"You   seem  to   like   that   work?" 

It  was  Miss  Alice's  voice  again.  It  start 
led  Bud,  the  tone  was  so  gentle,  as  though 
possibly  she  might  be  saying  the  words  to 
comfort  him.  He  dropped  the  brush  with 
which  he  had  been  working ;  but  as  he 
stooped  to  pick  it  up,  answered  respectfully, 

"Yes,   ma'am." 

Alice's  lip  curled.  The  idea  of  Miss 
Benedict  trying  to  interest  her  in  a  boor 
like  that,  who  could  not  reply  to  the  mer 
est  commonplace  without  growing  red  in  the 
face  and  blundering  over  his  work  !  She 
turned  to  go.  She  could  not  think  of  any 
thing  else  to  say,  and  if  she  could,  what 


BUD    IN    SEARCH    OF    COMFORT.  2/9 

use  to  say  it?  But  in  that  one  moment  of 
time,  Bud  had  taken  his  resolution.  The 
voice  had  been  kind ;  its  echo  lingered 
pleasantly ;  he  would  summon  all  his  cour 
age  and  ask  the  question  which  was  ab 
sorbing  his  thoughts.  It  might  be  days  be 
fore  he  could  see  Miss  Benedict  again,  and 
he  could  not  wait. 

"  Miss  Ansted,"  he  said,  and  she  noticed 
that  his  voice  trembled,  "  would  you  tell  me 
one  thing  that  I  want  to  know  right  away?" 

"  That  depends,"  she  answered  lightly  ; 
"  I  may  not  know.  However,  if  your  ques 
tion  is  not  too  deep,  I  may  try  to  answer 
it.  What  do  you  want?" 

"Why,  I've  got  to  know  right  away 
where  Jerusalem  is." 

"Jerusalem!"  she  repeated.  "Why  on 
earth  do  you  wish  to  know  that  ?  I  don't 
know  myself,  precisely.  It  is  across  the 
ocean  somewhere  in  Asia,  you  know.  Why 
do  you  care,  Bud,  where  it  is?" 

"  I've  got  to  go  there,"  said  Bud,  with 
simple  dignity. 

Miss   Ansted's   laugh  rang   out  merrily. 


28O  INTERRUPTED. 

"  That  is  an  undertaking  !  "  she  said, 
gayly.  "When  do  you  intend  to  start?  and 
what  is  the  object  of  the  journey,  I  won 
der?"  She  felt  sure  now  that  Bud  was  lit 
tle  less  than  an  idiot. 

But  Bud  had  another  question  to  ask. 
His  face  was  grave,  almost  dismayed.  "  Across 
the  ocean ! "  That  sentence  appalled.  He 
had  heard  of  the  ocean,  and  of  a  storm  on 
it,  and  a  shipwreck.  A  wandering  sailor 
once  told  in  his  hearing  a  fearful  story  of 
wreck  and  peril.  Yet,  be  it  recorded  that 
the  boy,  though  appalled,  did  not  for  one 
moment  recede  from  his  fixed  resolved  to  start, 
and  go  as  far  as  he  could.  That  Comforter 
he  meant  to  find.  It  had  taken  such  hold 
of  his  heart  that  he  knew  he  could  never 
give  it  up  again.  This  was  his  next  timidly- 
put  question  : 

"  Did   you   ever    go   there,   Miss    Ansted  ?  " 

"  I  never  did,"  she  answered,  laughing 
still,  and  very  curious  now  to  know  what 
queer  project  poor  Bud  had  on  his  mind. 
"•  Why  do  you  want  to  go,  Bud?" 

The   answer  was   direct   and  grave. 


BUD    IN    SEARCH    OF    COMFORT.  28 1 

"I  want  to  go  after  Him  who  said  He 
would  comfort  me-  '  Ye  shall  be  comforted 
in  Jerusalem,'  that  is  what  it  says,  and  she 
said  it  meant  me,  and  little  Jack  went,  I 
make  sure,  and  I  mean  to  go.  I  must  go." 

But  before  that  answer,  Alice  Ansted  stood 
dumb.  She  had  never  been  so  amazed  in  her 
life  !  What  did  the  fellow  mean  ?  What 
could  have  so  completely  turned  his  foolish 
brain  ?  "  If  this  is  the  outcome  of  Miss 
Benedict's  efforts,  she  ought  to  know  it  at 
once,  before  the  poor  idiot  concludes  his 
career  in  a  lunatic  asylum." 

This  was  her  rapid  thought,  but  aloud  she 
said,  at  last : 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about,  Bud.  You  have  some  wild  idea  that 
does  not  seem  to  be  doing  you  any  good. 
I  would  advise  you  to  drop  it  and  think 
about  the  horses ;  they  are  your  best  friends." 

"I  can't  drop  it,"  said  Bud,  simply;  "I 
read  the  verse  in  the  Bible ;  I  promised  I 
would,  and  I  did,  and  I  know  all  about  it, 
and  I  want  to  have  it;  she  said  it  was  for 
me." 


282  INTERRUPTED. 

"  What  is  the  verse  ? "  and  Miss  Alice  sat 
down  on  a  carriage-stool  to  listen. 

End  repeated  with  slow  and  solemn  em 
phasis  the  words  which  were  now  so  fa 
miliar  to  his  ear :  "  As  one  whom  his  mother 
comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you :  and  ye' 
shall  be  comforted  in  Jerusalem." 

"  I  know  about  mothers,"  he  explained. 
"  There  was  little  Jack's  mother,  and  she 
used  to .  say  to  him  just  that,  '  Mother  will 
comfort  you,'  and  she  did.  And  this  one  I 
make  sure  is  Jesus,  because  she  said  he 
wanted  me  to  go  where  little  Jack  is,  and  I 
guess  he  means  me,  because  I  feel  as  if  he 
did,  and  I'm  going  to  Jerusalem,  if  it  is 
across  two  oceans." 

Evidently  his  heart  gathered  strength  as 
he  talked ;  his  voice  grew  firmer,  and  the 
dignity  of  a  fixed  resolve  began  to  settle  on 
his  face. 

Was  there  ever  a  more  bewildered  young 
lady  than  this  one  who  sat  on  the  carriage 
stool?  She  surveyed  Bud  with  the  sort  of 
half-curious,  half-frightened  air,  which  she 
might  have  bestowed  on  a  mild  maniac  whose 


BUD    IN   SEARCH    OF    COMFORT.  283 

wanderings  interested  her.  What  was  she 
to  say  to  him  ?  How  convince  him  of  his 
queer  mistake  ? 

"  That  doesn't  mean  what  you  think  it  does, 
Bud,"  she  began  at  last. 

"Why  doesn't  it?"  Bud  asked,  quickly; 
almost  as  one  would  speak  who  was  hold 
ing  on  to  a  treasure  which  another  was  try 
ing  to  snatch  from  him. 

"  Because  it  doesn't.  It  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  city  named  Jerusalem.  It  is 
about  something  that  you  don't  understand. 
It  has  a  spiritual  meaning ;  and  of  course 
you  don't  understand  what  I  mean  by  that ! 
I  haven't  the  least  idea  how  to  explain  it 
to  you,  and  indeed,  it  is  extremely  unnec 
essary  for  you  to  know.  You  see,  Bud,  it" 
means  something  entirely  beyond  your  com 
prehension,  and  has  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  you." 

Bud  made  not  the  slightest  attempt  at 
answer,  but  went  stolidly  on  with  his  work. 
And  Alice  sat  still  and  surveyed  him  for  a 
few  minutes  longer,  then  arose  and  shook 
out  her  robes,  and  said,  "  So  I  hope  you 


284  INTERRUPTED. 

will  not  start  for  Jerusalem  yet  awhile," 
and  laughed,  and  sped  through  the  great, 
sliding  doors,  and  picked  her  way  daintily 
back  to  luxury,  leaving  the  world  blank  for 
Bud. 

Miss  Ansted  was  wise  about  the  world, 
and  about  books ;  surely  she  would  know 
whether  the  verse  meant  him,  and  whether 
the  word  Jerusalem  meant  Jerusalem.  Was 
it  all  a  mistake  ? 

The  pony  was  brought  forward  now  and 
had  her  share  of  rubbing  and  careful  han 
dling,  and  a  bit  of  petting  now  and  then, 
though  the  conversation  which  generally  went 
on  between  her  and  the  worker  was  omitted 
this  morning.  Bud  had  graver  thoughts. 
While  he  worked  he  went  over  the  old 
memories.  Little  Jack,  and  the  comforting 
mother,  and  the  facts  connected  with  those 
experiences,  no  need  to  tell  him  that  they 
did  not  mean  what  they  appeared  to  his 
eyes ;  he  knew  better.  Then  there  were  the 
plain,  simple  words  standing  like  a  solid 
wall  of  granite :  "  As  one  whom  his  mother 
comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you." 


BUD    IN    SEARCH    OF    COMFORT.  285 

"Stand  around!"  said  Bud,  in  a  tone  of 
authority ;  and  while  the  gray  pony  obeyed, 
he  told  her  his  resolve :  "  Them  words 
mean  something,  Dolly,  and  she  knows 
what  they  mean,  and  Bud  is  going  to  find 
out." 

You  are  not  to  suppose  that  the  pronoun 
referred  to  Alice  Ansted.  She  had  said 
that  she  could  not  tell  him  what  they 
meant. 

If  anybody  had  been  looking  on  with  wide- 
open  eyes,  it  would  have  been  an  interest 
ing  study  in  Providence  to  watch  how  Bud 
was  led.  It  was  Alice  Ansted  who  had  a 
very  little  hand  in  it  again,  though  she 
knew  nothing  of  it.  The  "  leading "  was 
connected,  too,  with  so  insignificant  a  matter 
as  an  umbrella. 

Mr.  Ramsey  had  overtaken  Louis  Ansted 
in  a  rain-storm,  a  few  days  before,  and  had 
insisted  on  lending  his  umbrella,  and  it 
suited  Louis  Ansted's  convenience  to  direct 
that  it  be  sent  home  by  Bad  that  morn 
ing. 

Why   Alice  Ansted  took  the  trouble   to   go 


286  INTERRUPTED. 

herself  to  Bud  with  the  order,  instead  of 
sending  a  servant,  she  hardly  knew,  neither 
did  she  understand  why,  after  having  given 
it,  she  should  have  lingered  to  say : 

"  I  presume,  Bud,  that  Mr.  Ramsey  can 
answer  all  the  questions  about  Jerusalem  that 
you  choose  to  ask." 

Now  Mr.  Ramsey  was  the  dreary  minis 
ter  who  seemed  to  Claire  Benedict  to  have 
no  life  nor  heart  in  any  of  his  work. 

Bud  stood  still  to  reflect  over  this  new 
thought  suggested  to  him  with  a  half-laugh. 
He  did  not  think  to  thank  Miss  Alice,  and 
yet  he  knew  that  he  was  glad.  It  was  true, 
the  minister  would  be  likely  to  know  all 
about  it,  and  there  might  not  be  a  chance 
to  speak  to  Miss  Benedict  again,  and  Bud 
felt  that  he  could  not  wait.  So,  as  he 
trudged  off  down  the  carriage-drive,  he  took 
his  resolution.  He  had  never  spoken  a  word 
to  a  minister  in  his  life,  but  he  would  ask 
to  see  him  this  morning,  and  find  out  about 
Jerusalem  if  he  could. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

COMFORTED. 

SATURDAY  morning,  and  the  minister 
in  his  dingy  study  struggling  with  an 
unfinished  sermon.  Struggling  with  more 
than  this  —  with  an  attempt  to  keep  in  the 
background  certain  sad  and  startling  facts 
that  his  meat  bill  was  growing  larger,  and 
that  his  last  quarter's  salary  was  still  un 
paid  ;  that  his  wife  was  at  this  moment 
doing  some  of  the  family  washing  which 
illness  had  prevented  her  from  accomplish 
ing  before,  and  taking  care  of  two  children 
at  the  same  time ;  that  his  Sunday  coat 
was  growing  hopelessly  shabby,  and  there 
was  nothing  in  his  pocket-book  wherewith  to 
replace  it  with  a  new  one ;  that  the  chil 
dren  needed  shoes,  and  there  was  no  money 

to    buy    them  ;    that    his    wife     was    wearing 
287 


288  INTERRUPTED. 

herself  out  with  over-work  and  anxiety,  and 
he  was  powerless  to  help  it ;  that  his  peo 
ple  were  absorbed  in  their  farms,  and  stores, 
and  shops,  and  cared  little  for  him,  or  for 
the  truths  which  he  tried  to  present.  What 
a  spirit  in  which  to  prepare  a  sermon  for 
the  Sabbath  that  was  hurrying  on ! 

The  study  was  dingy  from  force  of  neces 
sity.  The  carpet  was  faded,  and  worn  in 
places  into  positive  holes ;  the  table-spread 
was  faded,  because  it  had  been  long  worn, 
and  was  cheap  goods  and  cheap  colors  in 
the  first  place.  Everything  about  him  was 
wearing  out,  and  the  old-young  minister  felt 
that  he  was  wearing  out,  too,  years  before 
his  time.  I  do  not  know  that  it  is  any 
wonder  that  he  frowned  when  he  heard  the 
knock  at  the  side  door.  It  was  nearly  Sat 
urday  noon ;  he  had  not  time  for  loiterers, 
yet  he  must  answer  that  knock ;  thus  much 
he  could  save  his  wife.  He  threw  down  his 
pen,  with  whicli  he  had  just  written  the 
half-formed  sentence,  "  the  inexorable  and 
inscrutable  decrees  of  God,"  and  went  to 
the  door  to  admit  Bud,  and  the  umbrella. 


COMFORTED.  289 

Not  much  need  for'  delay  here,  and  yet 
Bud  lingered.  The  umbrella  had  been  set 
aside,  and  the  minister  had  said  it  was  no 
matter  that  it  had  not  been  brought  before, 
and  still  Bud  did  not  go.  He  held  his  hat 
in  his  hand,  and  worked  with  nervous  fin 
gers  at  the  frayed  band  around  it,  and  at 
last,  summoning  all  his  courage,  dashed  into 
the  centre  of  his  subject : 

"If  you  please,  sir,  will  you  tell  me  where 
Jerusalem  is?" 

"  Jerusalem ! "  repeated  the  minister,  and 
he  was  even  more  astonished  than  Alice 
Ansted  had  been  ;  but  he  looked  into  Bud's 
eager,  wistful  face,  and  saw  there  something, 
he  did  not  understand  what,  which  made 
him  throw  the  door  open  wider,  and  say, 
"  Come  in ; "  and  almost  before  he  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  he  had  seated  Bud  in 
the  old  arm-chair  by  the  stove,  in  the  study, 
and  was  sitting  opposite  him. 

You  don't  expect  me,  I  hope,  to  describe 
that  interview?  There  have  been  many  like 
it,  in  degree,  all  over  the  world,  but  noth 
ing  quite  so  strange  had  ever  come  to  this 


INTERRUPTED. 

minister  before.  Actually  a  hungry  soul 
looking  for  the  Jerusalem  above,  about  which 
lie,  the  minister,  had  read  that  morning, 
with  bated  breath  and  an  almost  rebellious 
longing  to  be  there,  where  "  there  shall  be 
no  more  death,  neither  sorrow  nor  crying, 
neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain,  for 
the  former  things  are  passed  away." 

It  was  not  difficult  to  show  Bud  the  way. 
He  was  like  a  child  who  heard  with  wide- 
open  wondering  eyes,  and  for  the  first  time, 
the  astounding  fact  that  the  Jerusalem  to 
ward  which  his  eyes  were  turned  was  near 
at  hand ;  that  there  was  no  ocean  to  cross, 
no  dangerous  journey  to  take ;  it  was  sim 
ply  to  put  forth  the  hand  and  accept  the 
free  gift. 

I  pause,  pen  in  hand,  to  wonder  how  I 
can  make  plain  to  you  that  this  is  no  made- 
up  story;  that  Bud  is  a  real  character  who 
lives  and  does  his  work  in  the  world  to-day. 
It  is  so  natural  in  reading  what  people  call 
fiction,  to  turn  from  the  book  with  a  little 
sigh,  perhaps,  and  say:  "Oh,  yes;  that  is 
all  very  well  in  a  book,  but  in  real  life 


COMFORTED.  2QI 

things  do  not  happen  in  this  way ;  and 
there  are  no  people  so  ignorant  as  that 
Bud,  anyway.  But  some  of  us  do  not  write 
fiction ;  we  merely  aim  to  present  in  com 
pact  form  before  thoughtful  people,  pictures 
of  the  things  which  are  taking  place  all 
around  them.  Bud  did  live,  and  does  live ; 
and  he  was  just  so  ignorant,  and  he  did 
hear  with  joy  the  simple,  wonderful  story 
of  the  way  to  the  Jerusalem  of  his  desires, 
and  he  did  plant  his  feet  firmly  on  the  nar 
row  road,  and  walk  therein. 

I  want  to  tell  you  what  that  minister  did 
after  the  door  had  been  closed  on  Bud  for 
a  few  minutes.  He  walked  the  floor  of  his 
limited  study  with  quick,  excited  steps,  three 
times  up  and  down,  then  he  dropped  on 
his  knees  and  prayed  this  one  sentence, 
"  Blessed  be  the  Lord  God,  who  only  doeth 
wondrous  things ! "  Then  he  went  out  to 
the  kitchen,  and  kissed  his  wife,  and  made 
up  the  fire  under  her  wash-boiler,  and  filled 
two  pails  with  water,  and  carried  Johnnie 
away  and  established  him  in  a  high-chair  in 
the  study,  with  pencil  and  paper  and  a 


INTERRUPTED. 

picture-book ;  and  then  he  took  the  five 
sheets  of  that  sermon  over  which  he  had 
been  struggling,  and  tore  them  in  two,  and 
thrust  them,  decrees  and  all,  into  the  stove ! 
Not  that  he  was  done  with  the  decrees,  or 
that  he  thought  less  of  them  than  before ; 
but  a  miracle  had  just  been  worked  in  his 
study,  and  he  had  been  permitted  to  be  the 
connecting  link  in  the  wondrous  chain  through 
which  ran  the  message  to  a  new-born  soul, 
and  the  decree  which  held  him  captive  just 
then  was  that  one  in  which  the  Eternal 
God  planned  to  give  his  Son  to  save  the 
world.  And  he  was  so  glad  that  this  de 
cree  was  inexorable,  that  its  inscrutability 
did  not  trouble  him  at  all.  I  am  glad  that 
he  made  up  that  fire,  and  filled  those  water- 
pails,  and,  busy  as  he  had  need  to  be,  gave 
some  gentle  attention  to  Johnnie.  A  relig 
ious  uplifting  which  does  not  bubble  over 
into  whatever  practical  work  the  heart  or 
the  hands  find  to  do,  is  not  apt  to  continue. 

It  was  on  the  following  Sabbath  that  Miss 
Benedict  found  opportunity  to  offer  to  mark 
the  verses  in  Bud's  Bible. 


COMFORTED* 

"  Bud,"  she  said,  stopping  at  the  bell-rope 
where  he  tolled  the  bell,  "  if  you  will  let  me 
take  your  Bible  after  church  —  did  you  bring 
it  with  you?  Well,  if  you  will  let  me  take 
it,  I  will  mark  some  verses  in  it  that  I 
think  will  help  you.  Did  you  read  a  verse 
each  day  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes'm,"  said  Bud,  and  there  was 
that  in  his  voice  which  made  her  turn  and 
look  clo'sely  at  him.  "  I  read  it,  and  I  found 
out  the  way,  and  I  went  and  spoke  to  Him, 
and  He  took  me  right  in,  as  He  said  He 
would,  and  there's  no  comfort  like  it,  I'm 
sure.  I  don't  miss  little  Jack's  mother  any 
more." 

What  did  all  this  mean  ?  Bud  began  in 
the  middle  of  things,  according  to  his  wont. 
He  forgot  that  Miss  Benedict  had  heard 
nothing  about  the  promised  comfort  in  Je 
rusalem,  nor  the  difficulties  he  had  had  in 
being  shown  into  the  right  way.  Yet  there 
is  something  in  the  family  language,  however 
awkwardly  used,  that  conveys  a  meaning  to 
those  of  the  same  household. 

"Bud,    do  you   really  mean  that  you   went 


294  INTERRUPTED. 

to  Jesus  Christ,  and  be  gave  you  comfort?" 
"  I  do  that,  raa'ara,"  said  Bud,  with  hearty 
voice  and  shining  eyes,  and  he  gave  the 
bell-rope  a  vigorous  pull.  "  He  was  right 
by  my  side  all  the  time,  the  minister  said, 
when  I  bothered  so  about  crossing  the  ocean, 
and  there  wasn't  any  ocean  to  cross ;  and  I've 
got  the  comfort,  and  I'm  going  to  hear  the 
singing  that  you  told  about.  I  didn't  think 
I  ever  could,  but  now  I  know  the  "way." 

Claire  turned  away  silentl}T,  and  walked 
softly  into  church,  awed.  Had  poor  Bud 
really  met  the  Lord  in  the  way  ?  It  looked 
so.  She  need  have  no  more  regrets  over 
those  unmarked  verses.  But  how  wonderful 
it  was !  And  that  is  just  the  truth,  dear, 
half-asleep  Christian  ;  wonders  are  taking  place 
all  about  you,  and  it  is  possible  that  you 
are  merely  engaged  in  trying  to  prove  to 
yourself  and  others  that  "  the  age  of  mira 
cles  is  past ; "  though  why  you  should  be 
very  anxious  to  prove  it,  does  not  clearly 
appear  even  to  yourself. 

The  minister,  who  preached  that  ^morning, 
was  the  same  minister  who  had  stood  behind 


COMFORTED.  295 

that  desk  and  read  his  sermons  to  that  peo» 
pie  for  seven  years,  though  some  of  his 
hearers  rubbed  their  eyes,  and  looked  about 
them  in  a  dazed  way,  and  wondered  if  this 
could  be  so.  What  had  happened  to  the 
man  ?  He  had  not  a  scrap  of  paper  before 
him.  In  the  estimation  of  some,  he  did  not 
preach.  Mrs.  Graves,  who  read  sermons  aloud 
at  home  on  Sabbath  afternoons,  and  was  in 
clined  to  be  literary,  said  that  it  was  not  a 
sermon  at  all  —  that  it  was  just  a  talk.  But 
Deacon  Graves,  who  was  not  literary,  re 
plied  : 

"  Well,  if  he  should  take  to  talking  very 
often,  we  should  all  have  to  wake  up  and 
look  after  our  living,  for  it  pretty  nigh  up 
set  everything  we  have  done  this  good  while, 
and  I  must  say  it  kind  of  made  me  feel  as 
though  I  should  like  to  see  something  stir 
ring  somewhere." 

None  of  them  knew  about  the  minister's 
uplifting,  only  Bud,  and  Bud  did  not  know 
that  it  was  an  uplifting,  or  that  the  minis 
ter  cared,  or  that  the  sermon  had  anything 
to  do  with  him,  or,  for  that  matter,  that  it 


296  INTERRUPTED. 

was  any  different  from  usual.  Bud  knew  he 
was  different,  and  it  gave  him  the  most  in 
tense  and  exquisite  joy  to  discover  that  he 
understood  nearly  every  word  that  the  minis 
ter  said  ;  but  this  he  attributed  not  to  a  change 
in  the  sermon,  but  because  he  had  fairly 
started  on  his  journey  to  the  heavenly  Jerusa 
lem.  It  is  possible  that  some  listeners  need 
that  sort  of  uplifting  before  the  sermons  to 
which  they  appear  to  listen  will  ever  be  other 
than  idle  words. 

Yes,  there  was  one  other  who  knew  that 
a  strange  and  sweet  experience  had  come  to 
the  disheartened  minister.  That  was  his  wife. 
She  had  known  it  ever  since  he  came  and 
kissed  her,  and  made  up  that  fire,  and  filled 
those  pails.  The  kiss  would  have  been  very 
precious  to  her  without  the  other,  but  the 
human  heart  is  such  a  strange  bit  of  mech 
anism,  that  I  shall  have  to  confess  to  you, 
that  in  the  light  of  that  new-made  fire,  the 
tenderness  glowed  all  day. 

And  now  the  preparations  for  the  concert 
went  on  with  rapid  strides.  The  Ansteds 
slipped  into  the  programme  almost  before  they 


COMFORTED. 

realized  it,  and  were  committed  to  this  and 
that  chorus  and  solo,  and  planned  and  re 
arranged  and  advised  with  an  energy  that 
surprised  themselves. 

It  has  been  intimated  to  you  that  oppor 
tunities  for  enjoying  good  music  were  rare 
at  South  Plains. 

What  musical  talent  they  possessed  had 
lain  dormant,  and  the  place  was  too  small  to 
attract  concert  singers ,  so  an  invitation  to 
a  musical  entertainment  came  to  the  people 
with  all  the  charm  of  novelty.  Of  course, 
the  girls  took  care  that  the  invitations  should 
be  numerous  and  cordial.  In  fact,  for  three 
weeks  before  the  eventful  evening,  almost 
the  sole  topic  of  conversation,  even  in  the 
corner  grocery,  had  been  the  young  folks' 
concert  and  the  preparations  that  were  mak 
ing. 

Still,  after  taking  all  these  things  into  con 
sideration,  both  the  girls  and  their  leader 
were  amazed,  when  at  last  the  hour  arrived, 
to  discover  that  every  available  inch  of 
room  in  the  stuffy  little  church  was  taken. 

"  For   once     in     its    life    it    is    full ! "     an- 


298  INTERRUPTED. 

nounced  Anna  Graves,  peeping  out,   and  then 
dodging    hastily    bacj^.     "  Girls,   it    is   full   to 
actual   suffocation,   I   should   think;   and  they 
have   come   to   hear    us   sing.     Think  of   it!" 
Well,    whether   those   girls  astonished  them 
selves   or   not,    they   certainly    did    their   fath 
ers    and    mothers.     Indeed,     I     am    not    sure 
that    their    young    teacher    did    not    feel    an 
emotion    of    surprise    over  the    fact   that   they 
acquitted    themselves    so    well.     Their    voices, 
when   not   strained   in    attempting    music     too 
difficult    for   them,    had    been    found    capable 
of    much    more    cultivation    than    she   had   at 
first   supposed,    and    she    had    done    her    best 
for    them,    without    realizing    until    now    how 
much  that  "best"  was  accomplishing.     It  was 
really    such    a    success,    and,    withal,   such    a 
surprise,   that  some   of  the   time   it   was   hard 
to    keep    back    the    happy    tears.     It    is   true 
there    was   one   element   in    the    entertainment 
which   the    teacher    did    not    give    its    proper 
amount  of  credit.     The    fact    is,   she    had    so 
long   been    accustomed    to   her    own  voice    as 
to   have    forgotten    that    to   strangers    it    was 
wonderful.     I  suppose  that  really  part  of  the 


COMFORTED.  299 

charm  of  her  singing  lay  in  the  simplicity 
of  the  singer.  Her  life  had  been  spent  in 
a  city,  where  she  came  in  daily  contact 
with  grand  and  highly  cultivated  voices,  and 
she,  therefore,  gauged  her  own  as  simply 
one  among  many,  and  a  bird  could  hardly 
have  appeared  less  conscious  of  his  powers 
than  did  she. 

Not  so  her  audience.  They  thundered 
their  delight  until  again  and  again  she  was 
obliged  to  appear,  and  each  time  she  sang 
a  simple  little  song  or  hymn,  suited  to  the 
musical  capacities  of  the  audience,  so  that 
she  but  increased  their  desire  for  more. 

It  was  all  delightful.  Yet  really,  sordid 
beings  that  they  were,  I  shall  have  to  ad 
mit  that  the  crowning  delight  was  when 
they  met  the  next  morning,  tired,  but  happy, 
and  counted  over  their  gains,  and  looked  in 
each  other's  faces,  and  exclaimed,  and 
laughed,  and  actually  cried  a  little  over  the 
pecuniary  result. 

"  Girls,"  said  Miss  Benedict,  her  eyes 
glowing  with  delight,  "we  can  carpet  the 
entire  aisles.  Think  of  that !  " 


3OO  INTERRUPTED. 

Then   began    work. 

"Since  we  haven't  been  doing  anything 
for  the  last  two  months,"  said  Mary  Bur 
ton,  with  a  merry  laugh,  "  I  suppose  we 
can  have  the  privilege  of  going  to  work 
now." 

Meantime,  the  days  had  been  moving 
steadily  on.  Christmas  holidays  had  come 
and  gone,  and  the  boys,  as  well  as  the  girls, 
to  whom  the  holiday  season  had  been  apt  to 
be  a  time  of  special  dissipation  and  tempta 
tion,  had  been  tided  safely  over  it  by  rea 
son  of  being  so  busy  that  they  had  no 
time  for  their  usual  festivities.  The  vaca 
tion  to  which  Claire  Benedict  had  looked 
forward  with  sad  heart,  on  her  first  coming 
to  South  Plains,  because  it  would  be  a 
time  when  she  might  honorably  go  home  if 
she  could  afford  it,  arid  she  knew  she  could 
not,  had  come  and  passed,  and  had  found 
her  in  such  a  whirl  of  work,  so  absorbed 
from  morning  until  night,  as  to  have  time 
only  for  postals  for  the  mother  and  sister. 

"  When  the  rush  of  work  is  over,"  so  she 
wrote,  "I  will  stop  for  repairs,  and  take 


COMFORTED.  3<DI 

time  to  write  some  respectably  lengthy  let 
ters,  but  just  now  we  are  so  overwhelmed 
with  our  desire  to  get  the  church  ready  for 
Easter  Sunday  that  we  can  think  of  noth 
ing  else.  Mamma,  I  do  wish  you  and  Dora 
could  see  it  now,  and  again  after  it  emerges 
from  under  our  hands ! " 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  her  ? "  asked 
Dora,  and  then  mother  and  daughter  laughed. 
It  was  impossible  to  be  very  dreary  with 
those  breezy  postals  constantly  coming  from 
Claire.  It  was  impossible  not  to  have  an 
almost  absorbing  interest  in  the  church  at 
South  Plains,  and  think  of,  and  plan  for  it 
accordingly. 

"Mamma,"  Dora  said,  after  having  read 
the  latest  postal,  as  she  sat  bending  it  into 
various  graceful  shapes,  "  I  suppose  that 
church  down  on  the  beach  that  the  girls  of 
our  society  are  working  for,  looks  something 
like  the  one  at  South  Plains.  I  think  I 
will  join  that  society  after  all ;  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  be  doing  something,  since  Claire 
has  taken  up  the  repairing  of  old  churches 
for  a  life-business." 


3O2  INTERRUPTED. 

This  last  with  a  little  laugh,  and  the 
mother  wrote  to  Claire  a  few  days  later: 

"  Your  sister  has  finally  succeeded  in 
overcoming  her  dislike  to  joining  the  be 
nevolent  society  again,  and  is  becoming  in 
terested  in  their  work.  They  have  taken 
up  that  seaside  church  again  which  you 
were  going  to  do  such  nice  tilings  for,  you 
know.  Dora  has  felt  all  the  time  that 
there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  now,  be 
cause  we  are  poor,  and  has  held  aloof,  but 
yesterday  she  joined  the  girls,  and  brought 
home  aprons  to  make  for  the  ready-made 
department  of  Mr.  Stevenson's  store.  The 
plan  is  that  Mr.  Stevenson  shall  furnish 
shades  for  the  church  windows  at  cost,  and 
the  girls  are  to  pay  him  by  making  up 
aprons  for  that  department.  I  am  glad  for 
anything  that  rouses  Dora;  not  that  she  is 
bitter,  but  she  is  sad,  and  feels  herself  use 
less.  My  dear,  you  are  doing  more  than 
repairing  the  church  at  South  Plains ;  you 
are  reaching,  you  see,  away  out  to  -  the  sea 
side." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

BUD  AS  A  TEACHER. 

IT  became  a  matter  of  astonishment  to 
discover  how  many  friends  the  old  church 
had,  and  from  what  unexpected  quarters 
they  appeared. 

It  really  seemed  as  though  each  worker 
had  an  uncle,  or  brother,  or  cousin,  of  whom 
she  had  not  given  a  thought  in  this  connec 
tion,  who  yet  grew  interested,  and  offered 
help. 

It  was  Anna  Graves  who  started  this 
special  form  of  help,  by  an  announcement 
that  she  made  one  morning ; 

"  Girls,  what  do  you  think !  My  uncle 
Will  is  coming  to  stay  two  weeks,  and  he 
says  he  will  fresco  the  church  ceiling  for  us, 
if  we  will  be  content  with  plain  work  that 
ne  can  do  rapidly." 


304  INTERRUPTED. 

It  did  not  take  the  eager  listeners  long 
to  promise  to  be  content  with  the  very 
plainest  work  that  could  be  imagined.  Their 
imagination  had  not  thought  of  reaching  after 
frescoed  ceilings. 

"  That  is  an  idea !  "  said  Nettie  Burdick. 
"  I  wonder  if  Joe  and  Charlie  would  not 
help  us?" 

Now  Joe  and  Charlie  were  wall-paperers 
in  the  city ;  and  it  was  only  a  few  days 
thereafter  that  Nettie  announced  with  great 
satisfaction  that  they  would  come  out  and 
paper  the  old  church,  for  their  share  in  the 
good  work. 

Then  came  Ruth  Jennings'  brother-in-law- 
who  was  in  business  in  a  more  distant  city, 
and  having  called  for  Ruth  and  waited  for 
her  on  the  evening  when  that  perplexing 
question  of  window-shades  was  being  dis 
cussed,  he  volunteered  a  delightful  bit  of  in 
formation  : 

"Didn't  they  know  about  the  new  paper 
in  imitation  of  stained  glass?  So  good  an  im 
itation  that  when  well  laid  it  would  take  an 
expert  to  distinguish  the  difference." 


BUD    AS    A    TEACHER.  30$ 

No,  indeed,  they  had  never  heard  of  such 
a  thing  ;  and  all  other  business  was  sus 
pended  while  the  brother-in-law  was  plied 
with  questions,  the  conclusion  of  the  mat 
ter  being  that  he  said  "their  firm  "  dealt  quite 
largely  in  this  new  invention,  and  he  could 
have  enough  for  this  little  church  supplied 
at  cost,  if  they  would  like  to  go  into  it. 
And  being  able  to  give  in  round  numbers 
the  probable  cost,  the  girls  gleeful \y  voted 
to  "go  into  it,'*  provided  they  could  secure 
any  person  who  knew  how  to  manage  it. 
This  at  once  developed  further  resources  be 
longing  to  the  brother-in-law.  He  knew  all 
about  it,  and  would  lay  the  paper  for  them 
with  pleasure,  if  some  of  the  "  fellows  "  would 
help.  He  would  just  as  soon  spend  a  day 
in  that  way  as  not. 

"  Stained-glass  windows  !  "  said  Ruth  Jen 
nings,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh  of  satisfac 
tion.  "As  if  South  Plains  had  ever  dreamed 
of  attaining  to  such  heights  !  Girls,  will  the 
old  red  curtains  do  for  dusters,  do  you  be 
lieve,  if  we  wash  them  tremendously  ?  '' 

The   very   next  day    brought    them    another 


306  INTERRUPTED. 

surprise.  Miss  Benedict  read  part  of  a 
letter  from  "  mamma,"  wherein  it  appeared 
that  a  certain  Mr.  Stuart,  of  the  firm  of 
Stuart,  Greenough  &  Co.,  had  become  in 
terested  in  the  church  at  South  Plains, 
through  Dora's  reports  of  what  absorbed  her 
sister's  energies,  and  in  grateful  remem 
brance  of  certain  helps  which  Claire's  father 
had  given  their  church  in  its  struggling  in 
fancy,  he  had  selected  a  walnut  desk  and 
two  pulpit  chairs,  which  he  had  taken  the 
liberty  to  ship  to  Miss  Claire  Benedict,  with 
his  kind  regards  and  earnest  wish  that  her 
efforts  might  be  prospered,  even  as  her  fath 
er's  had  been  before  her. 

Over  this  astonishing  piece  of  news  some 
of  the  girls  actually  cried.  The  pulpit  desk 
and  chairs  had  represented  a  formidable  bill 
of  expense  looming  up  before  them. 

Each  had  been  privately  sure  that  the}' 
would  be  obliged  at  last  to  take  those  which 
would  jar  on  their  esthetic  tastes,  out  of 
respect  to  the  leanness  of  the  church  purse. 
And  here  was  solid  walnut,  selected  by  a 
man  of  undoubted  taste  and  extensive  knowl- 


BUD    AS    A    TEACHER.  3O/ 

edge  in  this  direction.  I  don't  think  it 
strange  that  they  cried ! 

Mary  Burton,  while  she  wiped  her  eyes, 
made  a  remark  which  was  startling  to  some 
of  the  girls : 

"  How  much  your  father  has  done  for  us 
this  winter ! "  and  she  looked  directly  at 
Claire  Benedict.  Didn't  Mary  remember  that 
the  dear  father  was  dead  ? 

But  Miss  Benedict  understood.  Her  eyes 
which  had  remained  bright  with  excitement 
until  then,  suddenly  dimmed ;  but  her  smile 
and  her  voice  were  very  sweet. 

"  Oh,  Mary  !    thank  you  ! "    was  all  she  said. 

Among  the  workers  it  would  have  beer, 
hard  to  find  one  more  faithful  or  more  en 
ergetic  than  Bud.  He  was  full  of  eager, 
happy  life.  Much  depended  upon  him.  He 
could  blacken  stoves  with  the  skill  of  a 
professional,  and  none  were  ever  more  vigor 
ously  rubbed  than  those  rusty,  ash-be-strewn 
ones  which  had  so  long  disgraced  the  church. 
It  had  been  good  for  Bud  to  have  others 
awaken  to  the  fact  that  there  were  certain 
things  which  he  could  do,  and  do  well. 


308  INTERRUPTED. 

An  eventful  winter  this  was  to  him.  Hav« 
ing  made  an  actual  start  toward  Jerusalem, 
it  was  found  that  he  put  more  energy  into 
the  journey  than  many  who  had  been  long 
on  the  way;  and,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
before  long  it  became  apparent  that  he  was 
taking  rapid  strides. 

Miss  Alice  Ansted  was  among  the  first  to 
realize  it.  She  came  to  Claire  one  evening 
with  embarrassed  laughter,  and  a  half-serious, 
half-amused  request  for  instruction: 

"I'm  trying  to  follow  out  some  of  your 
hints,  and  they  are  getting  me  into  more 
trouble  than  anything  I  ever  undertook. 
Sewing  societies  and  charity  parties  are  as 
nothing  in  comparison.  I  am  trying  to 
teach  Bud !  He  wants  to  study  arithmetic ; 
it  is  an  absurd  idea,  I  think ;  what  will  he 
ever  want  of  arithmetic  ?  But  he  was  de 
termined,  and  you  were  determined,  and  be 
tween  you  I  have  been  foolish  enough  to 
undertake  it ,  and  now  it  appears  that  arith 
metic  is  a  very  small  portion  of  what  he 
wants  to  learn.  He  wants  to  know  every 
thing  that  there  is  in  the  Bible  ;  and  where 


BUD    AS    A   TEACHER.  309 

church-members  get  their  ideas  about  all 
sorts  of  things,  and  what  the  ministers  study 
in  the  theological  seminary,  and  why  all 
the  people  in  the  world  don't  attend  prayer- 
meeting,  and  I  don't  know  what  not !  He 
acts  as  though  his  brain  had  been  under  a 
paralysis  all  his  life,  which  had  just  been 
removed.  I  must  say  he  astonishes  me  with 
his  questions ;  but  it  is  easier  to  ask  ques 
tions  than  it  is  to  answer  them.  What,  for 
instance,  am  I  to  say  to  ideas  like  these? 
Since  you  have  gotten  me  into  this  scrape, 
it  is  no  more  than  fair  that  you  should 
help  me  to  see  daylight." 

And  then  would  follow  a  discussion,  nearly 
always  pertaining  to  some  of  the  practical 
truths  of  the  Christian  life,  or  to  some  di 
rection  that  Bud  had  found  in  the  course 
of  his  daily  Bible  verse,  which  seemed  to 
him  at  variance  with  the  life  which  was 
being  lived  by  the  professing  Christians 
about  him,  and  which  he  turned  to  his 
arithmetic-teacher  to  reconcile. 

Bud,  being  ignorant,  found  it  impossible 
to  understand  why  people  who  professed  to 


3  TO  INTERRUPTED. 

take  the  Bible  for  their  rule  of  life,  did  not 
follow  its  teachings,  and  he  brought  each 
fresh  problem  to  Alice  Ansted  with  such 
confident  expectation  that  she  knew  all  about 
it,  that  she,  who  had  only  volunteered  to 
explain  to  him  the  rules  of  arithmetic,  was 
in  daily  embarrassment.  From  these  conver 
sations,  which  constantly  grew  more  close 
and  searching  as  Bud  stumbled  on  new 
verses,  Claire  Benedict  used  to  turn  with  a 
smile  of  satisfaction,  as  well  as  with  almost 
a  feeling  of  awe,  over  the  wisdom  of  the 
Great  Teacher.  Alice  Ansted  might  be 
teaching  Bud  the  principles  of  arithmetic, 
but  he  was  certainly  daily  teaching  her  the 
principles  of  the  religion  which  she  pro 
fessed,  but  did  not  live. 

In  fact,  others  beside  Alice  Ansted  were 
being  taught,  or,  at  least,  were  being  roused, 
by  the  newly -a  wakened  mind.  The  minister 
had  by  no  means  forgotten  the  visit  which 
had  glorified  the  study  for  that  day,  and 
he  was  still  bathing  his  almost  discouraged 
heart  in  the  brightness  of  its  memory,  when 
a  vigorous  knock  one  morning  again  inter- 


BUD    AS    A    TEACHER.  311 

rupted  his  studies.  His  eyes  brightened 
when  he  saw  that  the  visitor  was  Bud,  and 
he  invited  him  in  with  cordial  tone.  But 
no,  Bud  was  in  haste.  There  was  not  a 
trace  of  the  hesitancy  and  embarrassment 
which  had  characterized  his  first  visit.  He 
spoke  with  the  confidence  of  one  who  had 
obtained  great  and  sufficient  help  at  this 
source  before,  and  who  knew  that  it  was 
the  place  where  help  could  be  found. 

"I  haven't  any  time  this  morning,"  he  said, 
speaking  with  a  rapidity  which  had  begun 
to  characterize  his  newly  awakened  life. 
"  I'm  down  at  Snyder's,  waiting  for  the  pony  to 
be  shod,  and  there  is  a  fellow  there  talking. 
He  says  the  Bible  ain't  true  ;  that  it  is  just 
a  lot  of  made-up  stories  to  cheat  women  and 
children  and  folks  that  don't  know  nothing, 
like  me.  Well,  now,  I  know  that  it  is  no 
such  a  thing.  I  know  the  Bible  is  true, 
because  I've  tried  it;  but  he  hasn't  tried  it, 
you  see,  sir,  and  he  won't  because  he  don't 
believe  in  it,  and  I  thought  I  would  just  run 
up  here  and  ask  you  to  give  me  something 
to  show  him  that  it  is  all  true ;  something 


312  INTERRUPTED. 

that  I  can  tell  him  in  a  hurry,  because  the 
pony  will  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes." 

What  in  the  world  was  that  minister  to 
say?  Was  ever  such  an  embarrassing,  ques 
tion  thrust  at  him  ? 

The  evidences  of  Christianity  —  yes,  he 
had  studied  them  carefully  ;  of  course  he  had. 
He  had  written  sermons  to  prove  the  truth 
of  the  Holy  Scriptures ;  he  had  a  row  of 
books  on  the  upper  shelf  of  his  library,  all 
of  them  treating  more  or  less  of  this  sub 
ject.  He  turned  and  looked  at  them ;  pon 
derous  volumes ,  it  was  not  possible  to  take 
down  even  the  smallest  of  them  and  set 
Bud  to  reading  it.  In  the  first  place,  Bud 
would  no  more  understand  the  language  in 
which  it  was  written  than  he  would  under 
stand  the  Greek  Testament  which  stood  by 
its  side ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  Bud 
wanted  knowledge  that  could  be  transmitted 
while  the  pony  was  being  shod ! 

Certainly,  this  dilemma  had  its  ludicrous 
side,  but  had  it  not  also  its  humiliating 
one  ?  Ought  there  not  to  be  some  word 
which  an  educated  man  like  himself  could 


BUD    AS    A    TEACHER.  313 

give  in  haste  to  an  ignorant  boy  like  Bud? 
Something  so  plain  that  even  the  pony  need 
not  wait  while  it  was  being  explained?  Sup 
pose  the  man  at  the  blacksmith-shop  had 
chosen  to  sneer  over  the  fact  that  the  earth 
is  round,  and  Bud  had  come  for  an  argu 
ment  to  prove  the  truth  of  this  fact,  how 
easy  it  would  be  to  produce  one ! 

Ought  he  not  to  be  equally  ready  to  de 
fend  this  much-slandered  Bible  ?  Thoughts 
are  very  rapid  in  their  transit.  Something 
like  these  ideas  rushed  through  the  scholar's 
mind  while  he  stood  looking  up  at  his  row 
of  books,  and  Bud  stood  looking  up  at  him 
with  an  air  of  confident  expectation. 

"  Bud,"    said     the     minister,     turning    sud 
denly     away     from     his     book-shelves,     "  how 
many   persons    are    there   at   Snyder's  ? " 
"  Eight   or   nine,    sir  ;    maybe   more." 
"  Are    they    from    around   here  ? " 
"  No,  sir  ;  mostly  from  the  country  ;  I  don't 
know  any  of  'em." 

"Well,  Bud,  I  want  you  to  listen  care 
fully  while  I  ask  two  or  three  questions. 
Suppose  you  had  been  there  before  any  of 


314  INTERRUPTED. 

those  men,  and  as  one  after  another  began 
to  come  in,  each  should  tell  of  a  fire  there 
had  been  last  night  in  the  city.  Suppose 
you  knew  that  they  were  not  acquainted 
with  each  other,  and  had  not  met  until  they 
reached  the  blacksmith's  shop,  and  suppose 
they  told  the  same  story,  without  contradict 
ing  one  another  in  any  of  the  important  par 
ticulars,  what  do  you  believe  you  would  con 
clude  about  them  ?  Would  you  think  that 
they  had  told  the  truth  or  a  made-up 
story?"  . 

"  I  reckon  it  would  be  the  truth,  sir ; 
cause  how  would  they  .know  how  to  make 
it  up  alike  ? " 

"  That  is  just  the  point,"  said  the  grati 
fied  minister.  While  he  talked  he  had  been 
watching  Bud  carefully,  much  in  doubt  as 
to  whether  he  had  mind  enough  to  grasp 
the  illustration,  but  so  far  it  had  evidently 
been  grasped ;  now  he  must  see  if  it  could 
be  applied. 

"  Listen !  Did  you  know  that  thirtj'-six 
people  told  the  story  of  the  Bible,  and  that 
many  of  them  not  only  never  saw  one  an- 


BUD    AS    A    TEACHER.  315 

Other,  but  many  of  them  died  before  others 
of  them  were  born ;  and  that  they  told  the 
same  story,  without  contradicting  one  another 
at  all?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Bud,  "  I  didn't  know  noth 
ing  about  it.  Is  that  so  ? "  Extreme  de 
light  glowed  in  his  honest  eyes,  and  he 
clutched  at  his  cap  and  made  a  movement 
toward  the  door.  "  I  thank  you,  sir ;  I'll  go 
back  and  tell  him  ;  it  will  be  a  stunner ! " 

Away  went  the  newly  awakened  preacher 
of  the  Evidences  of  Christianity,  and  the 
minister  went  back  to  his  Greek  Testament 
with  great  satisfaction.  Bud  might  not  be 
able  to  convince  the  scoffer  at  the  black 
smith's  shop  ;  Mr.  Ramsey  did  not  expect 
that  he  would ;  he  knew  that  Satan  had 
many  skillful  ways  of  using  false  weapons 
and  making  them  flash  like  true  steel.  The 
thing  which  gave  him  pleasure  was,  that  Bud 
had  understood.  He  felt  nearly  certain  that 
the  boy's  mind  would  not  leave  the  question 
there ;  it  would  have  to  be  investigated,  and 
he,  the  minister,  would  have  to  get  ready  to 
help  him. 


3l6  INTERRUPTED. 

"  We  ought  to  be  careful  to  speak  about 
all  these  things  in  such  a  way  that  unedu 
cated  people  could  follow  us,"  he  said. 

And  all  that  morning,  while  he  worked 
over  his  sermon  for  the  following  Sabbath, 
he  worked  to  secure  simple  words  in  which 
to  clothe  his  thought ;  he  sought  illustra 
tions  to  give  it  clearness  j  in  short,  he 
preached  to  Bud ;  almost  unconsciously  he 
brought  the  boy  before  his  mind's  eye,  cap 
in  hand  —  a  symbol  of  the  people  whose 
thoughts  rested  for  a  moment  on  what  you 
were  saying,  and  then  flitted  away  to  some 
thing  else  —  unless,  indeed,  the  owners  were 
caught  during  that  moment.  This  particular 
minister  had  never  before  so  fully  realized 
this  truth.  He  had  never  before  labored  so 
hard  to  catch  the  attention  of  the  unskilled 
listener  ;  nor  had  he  ever  become  so  in 
tensely  interested  in  any  sermon  as  he  did 
in  that  one.  If  he  was  to  preach  it  for  Bud, 
it  must  be  very  simple  ;  and  in  making  it 
very  simple,  his  own  heart  took  hold  of  it 
as  a  tremendous  reality,  instead  of  a  thought 
out  of  a  book. 


BUD    AS    A    TEACHER.  3 1/ 

I  hope  I   shall   be   understood    when   I  say 

that    Bud    wrote     the    greater    part    of  the 

minister's     sermon     that     week  ;     though  he 

of    course,    was    utterly    uu'WDScious    of  the 
fact. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ONE  OF   THE   VICTIMS. 

MEANTIME  there  were  other  interests 
at  stake  that  winter  than  those  in 
volved  in  the  renovation  of  the  old  church. 
For  instance,  there  was  Harry  Matthews, 
who  kept  Claire's  heart  constantly  filled  with 
anxious  thought. 

It  became  more  and  more  apparent  that 
he  was  in  great  and  growing  danger.  Claire 
saw  much  of  him.  He  had  been  one  of  the 
most  faithful  helpers  during  the  preparations 
for  the  concert,  and  lie  was  still  one  of  the 
energetic  workers,  being  included  in  all  their 
plans.  Moreover,  he  was  a  genial,  society- 
loving,  warm-hearted  young  fellow ;  one  of 
the  sort  with  whom  a  sympathetic  girl  soon 
becomes  intimate.  Claire  had  often,  in  the 
earlier  days  of  her  girlhood,  sighed  over  the 
318 


ONE   OF   THE   VICTIMS.  319 

fact  that  she  had  no  brother;  and  now  it 
seemed  sometimes  to  her  as  if  this  Harry 
were  a  sort  of  brother,  over  whose  interests 
she  must  watch.  So  she  exercised  an  older 
sister's  privilege  in  growing  very  anxious 
about  him. 

Neither  was  he  so  gayly  happy  as  he  had 
been  early  in  the  season.  He  had  kept  his 
pledge,  coming  to  her  at  first  with  laughing 
eyes  and  mock  gravity  of  face,  pretending  to 
making  confession  like  the  good  little  boy 
in  the  story  book,  who  is  sorry,  and  won't 
do  so  any  more  if  he  can  help  it.  She  al 
ways  received  these  admissions  with  a  gentle 
gravity,  so  unmistakably  tinged  with  sadness 
and  disappointment,  that  they  presently 
ceased  to  be  amusing  to  him.  He  was  be 
ginning  to  make  discoveries :  first,  that  it  was 
by  no  means  an  agreeable  thing  for  a  manly 
young  man  to  seek  a  young  woman  whom 
he  respected,  and  voluntarily  admit  that  he 
had  again  been  guilty  of  what  he  knew  she 
looked  upon  with  distrust,  not  only,  but 
with  actual  dismay  ;  and  second  that  he  had 
the  confession  to  make  much  more  frequently 


32O  INTERRUPTED. 

than  he  had  supposed  could  possibly  be  the 
case  ;  that,  in  short,  the  habit  which  he  had 
supposed  such  a  light  one,  was  growing  upon 
him  ;  that  on  occasions  when  he  withstood 
the  invitations  and  temptations,  the  struggle 
was  a  hard  one,  which  he  shrank  from  re 
newing.  Still  he  made  resolves.  It  was  ab 
surd  to  suppose  that  he  could  keep  running 
after  Miss  Benedict,  or  sending  her  notes  to 
say  that  he  had  again  indulged  in  a  habit 
that  he  had  assured  her  was  of  no  conse 
quence,  and  that  he  could  break  in  a  day  if 
he  chose.  He  knew  now  that  this  was  folly. 
It  was  not  to  be  broken  in  a  day.  He  be 
gan  to  suspect  that  possibly  he  was  a  slave, 
with  little  or  no  power  to  break  it  at  all. 
The  tenor  of  his  notes  changed  steadily. 
The  first  one  ran  thus : 

"I  have  to  inform  your  most  gracious 
majesty  that  I  have  this  day  committed  the 
indiscretion  of  taking  about  two  thirds  of  a 
glass  of  champagne  with  an  old  school  chum 
whom  I  have  not  seen  for  six  months.  It 
is  another  chapter  of  the  old  story — he 
*  beguiled  me  and  I  did  '  drink.  Of  course 
it  was  no  fault  of  mine ;  and  it  gives  me 
comfort  to  inform  you  that  the  tempter  has 


ONE    OF   THE   VICTIMS.  321 

gone  on  his  way  to  Chicago,  and  that  I  do 
not  expect  to  see  him  for  another  six 
months.  So  humbly  craving  your  majesty's 
pardon  for  being  thus  obliged  to  trouble  her 
—  owing  to  a  certain  foolish  pledge  of  mine  — 
I  remain  your  humble  subject. 

"  HARRY  MATTHEWS." 

The    last  one  she  received  was  briefly  this  : 

"  Miss  Benedict :  —  I  have  failed  again, 
though  I  did  not  mean  to  do  so.  I  beg  you 
will  erase  my  name  from  that  page,  and  care 
nothing  more  about  it  or  me." 

Over  the  first  note  Claire  had  lingered 
with  a  troubled  air,  but  on  this  last  one  there 
dropped  tears.  She  had  adopted  Harry  by 
this  time  as  a  young  brother,  and  she  could 
not  help  carrying  his  peril  about  in  her 
heart.  Still,  if  he  had  not  gone  too  far,  there 
was  more  hope  for  the  writer  of  this  brief 
note,  with  its  undertone  of  fierce  self-disgust, 
than  for  the  one  who  could  so  merrily  con 
fess  what  he  believed  was,  at  the  worst,  a 
foible. 

One  evening  they  walked  home  together 
from  the  church.  She  was  silent,  and  her 
heart  was  heavy.  She  had  caught  the  odor 
of  wine  about  him,  though  he  had  made  a 


322  INTERRUPTED. 

weak  effort  to  conceal  it  with  rich  spioes. 
They  walked  half  the  distance  from  the 
church  to  the  Academy,  having  spoken  noth 
ing  beyond  an  occasional  commonplace.  Truth 
to  tell,  Claire  was  in  doubt  what  to  say,  or 
whether  to  say  anything.  She  had  spoken 
many  words  to  him  ;  she  had  written  him 
earnest  little  notes;  what  use  to  say  more? 
It  was  he  who  broke  the  silence,  speaking 
moodily : 

"  It  is  of  no  use,  Miss  Benedict ;  I  shall 
have  to  ask  you  to  release  me  from  that 
pledge.  I  cannot  keep  rushing  around  to 
the  Academy  to  tell  you  what  befalls  me ; 
it  is  absurd.  And  —  well,  the  fact  is,  as  I 
am  situated,  I  simph1-  can  not  keep  from 
using  liquor  now  and  then  ;  oftener,  indeed, 
than  I  had  supposed  when  I  signed  that 
paper.  It  must  have  been  a  great  bore,  to 
you,  and  I  owe  you  a  thousand  apologies ; 
but  you  see  how  it  is,  I  must  be  released 
and  left  to  myself.  I  have  been  true  to  my 
promise,  as  I  knew  I  should  be  when  I  made 
it,  but  I  can't  have  you  troubled  any  longer ; 
and,  as  I  say,  I  have  to  drink  occasionally." 


ONE    OF    THE    VICTIMS.  323 

He  did  not  receive  the  sort  of  answer 
which  he  had  expected.  He  was  prepared 
for  an  earnest  protest,  for  an  argument; 
but  Claire  said,  her  voice  very  sad  the 
while : 

"I  know  you  can  not  keep  from  drink 
ing,  Harry,  and  I  have  known  it  for  a  long 
while." 

Now,  although  he  had  told  himself  sev 
eral  times  in  a  disgusted  way  that  he  was 
a  coward,  and  a  fool,  and  a  slave,  and  that 
he  did  not  deserve  to  have  the  respect  of  a 
lady,  his  pride  was  by  no  means  so  far  gone 
that  he  liked  to  hear  the  admission  from 
other  lips  than  his  own  that  he  was  bound 
in  chains  which  he  could  not  break. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked,  haught 
ily  enough. 

"  I  mean,  Harry,  that  you  are  tempted, 
awfully  tempted,  to  become  a  drunkard !  I 
mean  that  I  do  not  think  you  can  help 
yourself;  I  think  you  have  gone  beyond  the 
line  where  your  strength  would  be  sufficient. 
You  inherit  the  taste  for  liquor.  Never 
mind  how  I  learned  that ;  I  know  it,  and 


324  INTERRUPTED. 

have  known  it  for  a  long  time.  As  surely 
as  Satan  lives,  he  has  you  in  his  toils.  Oh, 
Harry !  " 

There  were  tears  in  her  voice.  She  was 
not  one  who  easily  lost  self-control  before 
others,  but  this  was  a  subject  on  which  her 
heart  was  sore.  He  did  not  know  how  many 
times  she  had  said  to  herself:  "What  if 
he  were  my  brother,  and  mamma  sat  at 
home  watching  and  praying  for  him,  and  he 
were  as  he  is !  And  his  mother  is  a  widow, 
and  has  only  this  one,  and  she  sits  at 
home  and  waits ! "  And  this  mother's  fast- 
coming  agony  of  discovery  had  burned  into 
her  soul  until  it  is  no  wonder  that  the 
tears  choked  what  else  she  might  have 
said. 

But  Harry  was  haughty  still.  He  was 
more  than  that,  however ;  he  was  fright 
ened.  If  the  darkness  of  the  night  had  not 
shielded  his  face  from  observation,  its  pallor 
would  have  frightened  her.  He  tried,  how 
ever,  to  steady  his  voice  as  he  said: 

"  Miss  Benedict,  what  do  you  mean  ?  I 
do  not  understand.  Do  you  mean  that  I 


ONE    OF   THE   VICTIMS,  32$ 

am  foreordained  to  become  a  drunkard,  and 
that  I  can  not  help  myself?" 

"  Oh,  Harry  !  I  mean  that  the  great  enemy 
of  your  soul  has  discovered  just  how  he  can 
ruin  you,  body  and  soul,  and  he  means  to 
do  it.  You  have  toyed  with  him  until  you 
can  not  help  yourself.  You  can  not,  Harry. 
There  is  no  use  to  fancy  that  you  can.  He 
has  ruined  many  a  young  man  as  self-reliant 
as  you.  He  is  too  strong  for  you,  and  too 
mean  !  He  has  ways  of  dissembling  that 
you  would  scorn.  He  is  not  honest  with 
you.  He  has  made  you  believe  what  was 
utterly  false.  He  has  you  in  his  toils,  and 
as  surely  as  you  are  here  to-night,  just  so 
surely  will  you  fail  in  the  battle  with  him. 
You  do  not  know  how  to  cope  with  Satan ; 
you  need  not  flatter  yourself  that  you  do. 
He  has  played  with  many  a  soul,  coaxed  it 
to  feel  just  that  sense  of  superiority  over 
him  which  you  feel,  until  it  was  too  late, 
and  then  laughed  at  his  victim  for  being  a 
dupe." 

During  the  first  part  of  this  sentence, 
Harry  Matthews,  though  startled,  was  also 


326  INTERRUPTED. 

angry.  He  had  always  prided  himself  on 
his  self-control,  upon  being  able  to  go  just 
so  far  in  a  given  direction  and  no  farther 
unless  he  chose ;  and  even  in  this  matter, 
when  he  had  accused  himself  of  being  a 
slave,  he  had  not  believed  it;  he  had  be 
lieved  simply  that  he  had  discovered  him 
self  to  be  more  fond  of  intoxicants  than  he 
had  supposed,  and  that  the  effect  to  give 
them  up  involved  more  self-sacrifice  than  it 
was  worth  while  to  make ;  and  while  he 
was  vexed  that  even  this  was  so,  he  had 
honestty  believed  this  to  be  the  whole  story. 
It  was  not  until  this  moment  that  the  sense 
of  being  in  actual  peril,  and  being  insuffi 
cient  for  his  own  rescue,  rushed  over  him. 
I  do  not  know  why  it  did  at  that  time, 
unless  the  Holy  Spirit  saw  his  opportunity 
and  willed  that  it  should  be  so. 

There  was  almost  mortal  anguish  in  the 
low  voice  that  sounded  at  last  in  answer  to 
Claire's  cry  of  fear. 

"God   help   me,   then!     What   can    I   do?" 

The  question  surprised  Claire,   startled    her. 

She    had    prayed    for    it,   but  she    was    like 


ONE    OF   THE   VICTIMS. 

many  another  Christian  worker  in  that  she 
had  not  seemed  to  expect  the  answer  to  her 
prayer.  Verily,  He  has  to  be  content  with 
exceeding  little  faith !  Claire  had  expected 
the  blind  young  man  would  go  on  excus 
ing  himself,  and  assuring  her  of  her  mis 
take.  None  the  less  was  she  eager  with  her 
answer : 

"  If  you  only  meant  that  cry !  If  you  only 
would  give  up  the  unequal  strife,  and  stand 
aside  and  cry  out,  '  O  Lord,  undertake  for 
me ' !  what  a  world  would  be  revealed  to 
you.  Harry  Matthews,  there  is  just  One 
who  fought  a  battle  with  Satan  and  came 
off  victor,  and  there  never  will  be  another. 
The  victory  must  come  through  Him,  or  it 
is  at  best  a  very  partial,  and  at  all  times 
ft  doubtful  one.  In  Him  are  safety  and 
everlasting  strength,  and  outside  of  Him  is 
danger." 

She  did  not  say  another  word,  nor  did 
he,  other  than  a  half-audible  "  Good-night ! " 
as  he  held  open  the  Academy  gate  for  her 
to  pass.  She  went  in  feeling  frightened 
over  much  that  she  had  said.  Ought  she 


328  INTERRUPTED. 

to  have  spoken  so  hopelessly  to  him  ?  What 
if  he  turned  in  despair,  and  plunged  into 
excesses  such  as  he  had  not  known  before? 
Men  had  reformed,  and  signed  the  pledge 
and  kept  it,  apparently  without  the  aid  of 
Christ;  at  least,  they  had  not  owned  alle 
giance  to  him,  though  well  she  knew  that 
his  restraining  grace  was,  after  all,  what 
kept  any  man  from  rushing  headlong  to 
ruin.  God  held  back  even  those  who  would 
not  own  his  detaining  arm.  But  she  had 
felt  so  hopeless  in  regard  to  Harry,  so  cer 
tain  that  nothing  short  of  an  acknowledged 
leaning  on  Christ  would  be  sufficient  for  his 
needs.  The  more  she  had  prayed  for  him, 
the  more  sure  had  she  been  that  in  Christ 
alone  lay  his  refuge.  She  had  not  meant 
to  say  this  to  him.  Yet  the  thoughts  seemed 
to  crowd  out  of  themselves,  when  he  gave 
them  opportunity.  Now  she  went  to  her 
room  shivering  and  trembling  over  the  pos 
sible  results. 

She  had  very  little  opportunity,  however,  for 
thought ;  and  there  was  that  awaiting  her 
which  was  not  calculated  to  quiet  her  mind. 


ONE    OF    THE    VICTIMS.  329 

It  was  Alice  Ansted  who  rose  up  from 
before  the  east  window,  where  a  fine  view 
was  to  be  had  of  the  rising  moon,  and  came 
forward  to  meet  her  as  she  entered  her  own 
room. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  having  taken 
possession.  There  was  company  in  the  par 
lor,  and  Mrs.  Foster  said  she  thought  I 
might  come  here  and  wait  for  you.  Is 
there  another  committee  meeting  this  even 
ing?  or  can  I  hope  to  have  you  to  myself 
for  five  minutes?" 

"There  is  no  committee  meeting  this  even 
ing,"  Clarie  said,  smiling,  "  we  have  been 
down  to  measure  the  platform,  and  arrange 
for  the  organ,  but  I  believe  now  that  every 
thing  is  done.  Take  this  easy-chair.  I  am 
glad  you  waited  for  me.  There  are  several 
things  about  which  I  wish  to  consult  you," 
she  added. 

"  They  have  to  do  with  that  church,  I 
know.  I  shall  not  let  you  get  started  on 
that  topic.  I  should  be  perfectly  certain  not 
to  get  you  back  to  any  other  to-night ; 
and  I  want  to  do  the  talking  myself.  I 


33O  INTERRUPTED. 

can  not  see  why  you  care  so  much,  for  that 
church." 

Claire    laughed. 

"  We  care  for  anything  for  which  we 
work,  and  especially  for  which  we  sacrifice 
a  little,  you  know.  Wh}r,  you  care  for  it 
yourself.  Don't  you  think  you  do,  a  little  ?  " 

"  I  care  for  you,  and  for  your  opinion. 
I  have  been  telling  mamma  only  this  even 
ing,  that  when  the  old  barn  gets  fixed  up, 
I  believe  I  will  go  down  there  to  church. 
I  am  not  so  fond  of  riding  that  I  care  to 
take  an  eight-mile  ride  every  Sunday ;  be 
sides,  I  think  it  looks  silly.  Mamma  thinks 
we  are  all  becoming  idiotic,  for  all  the 
daughters  and  the  son  sided  with  me,  and 
papa  said  he  didn't  care  a  rush  light  which 
we  did ;  that  it  would  be  easier  for  the 
horses  to  come  down  here." 

"  Good  news,"  said  Claire,  brightly.  "  I 
have  been  hoping  for  something  of  the  kind. 
Then  you  will  begin  to  attend  the  prayer- 
meeting,  of  course,  and  it  does  need  you  so 
much ! " 

"  I'm   sure   I  don't    see   why   I    should.     I 


6NE    OF   THE   VICTIMS.  331 

never  attended  prayer-meeting  in  town,  and 
I  have  belonged  to  that  church  for  years. 
The  idea  of  my  helping  along  a  pra}*er- 
raeeting !  You  do  have  some  very  absurd 
ideas,  Claire  Benedict,  though  I  may  as  well 
admit  that  the  only  reason  I  would  have 
for  coming  here  to  church  would  be  to  give 
you  pleasure.  But  this  is  not  in  the  least 
what  I  came  to  talk  to  you  about,  I  knew 
we  should  get  on  that  subject,  and  never 
get  away  from  it." 

"  Let  us  go  right  away  from  it,  and  tell 
me,  please,  just  what  you  want  to  talk 
about.  Only  let  me  say  this  one  little 
thing:  I  want  you  to  come  down  to  prayer- 
meeting  next  Wednesday  evening,  and  dis 
cover  in  how  many  ways  you  can  help  it. 
Now  I  am  ready." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

NEW   LINES   OF   WORK. 

BUT  Alice  hesitated.  The  subject,  what 
ever  it  was  that  she  wanted  to  talk 
about,  evidently  had  its  embarrassing  side. 
Now  that  Claire  sat  in  expectant  silence, 
she  grew  silent  too,  and  looked  down,  and 
toyed  with  the  fringe  of  her  wrap,  her  face 
in  a  frown  that  indicated  either  perplexity 
or  distrust. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  come  to 
you,"  she  said,  at  last,  speaking  half-angrily ; 
"  I  suppose  I  am  a  simpleton,  and  shall  get 
little  thanks  for  any  interference,  yet  it  cer 
tainly  seems  to  me  as  though  something  ought 
to  be  done,  and  as  though  you  might  do  it." 

"  If  there  is  any  way  in  which  I  can  help 
you,"  Claire  said,  "you  hardly  need  to  have 

me   say   how  glad   I   shall   be   to  do   so." 

332 


NEW   LINES   OF    WORK.  333 

"  Would  you,  I  wonder  ?  Would  you  help 
in  a  perplexity  that  seems  to  me  to  be  grow 
ing  into  a  downright  danger,  and  which  I 
more  than  half  suspect  you  could  avert?" 

There  was  something  so  significant  in  her 
tone,  that  Claire  looked  at  her  in  wonder 
ment  for  a  moment,  then  said,  choosing  her 
words  with  care : 

"  You  surely  know  that  I  would  be  only 
too  glad  to  help  you  in  any  way  that  was 
right,  and  of  course  you  would  not  ask  me 
to  do  anything  that  I  thought  wrong." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  You  have 
such  peculiar  ideas  of  right  and  wrong. 
They  are  not  according  to  my  standard,  I 
presume.  How  I  wish  I  knew,  without  tell 
ing  you,  just  what  you  would  think  right  : 
it  would  settle  several  questions  for  me,  or 
else  it  would  unsettle  me,  for  I  might  not 
want  to  do  what  was  right,  you  see,  any 
more  than  you  would  want  to  do  what  was 
wrong." 

"I  am  not  a  witch,"  said  Claire,  lightly, 
"and  I  confess  that  I  have  no  more  idea 
what  you  mean  than  if  you  were  speaking 


334  INTERRUPTED. 

in  Sanscrit.  Suppose  you  speak  English  for 
a  few  minutes,  my  friend,  and  enlighten 
me." 

"I  will,  presently.  I  want  to  ask  you  a 
few  general  questions  first,  which  have  noth 
ing  special  to  do  with  the  question  at  hand. 
Would  you  marry  a  man  who  was  not  a 
Christian  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Claire,  wondering,  startled  yet 
nevertheless  prompt  enough  with  her  answer; 
"  that  is,  I  do  not  now  see  how  I  could. 
In  the  first  place,  I  would  not  be  likely  to 
have  the  opportunity ;  for .  I  could  not  be 
sufficiently  interested  in  a  man  who  had  no 
sympathy  with  me  in  these  vital  questions, 
to  ever  reach  the  point  as  to  my  possible 
opportunities  and  duties." 

"  Oh,  well,  that  doesn't  materially  enlighten 
me.  You  see  I  am  talking  about  people  who 
could  become  sufficiently  interested  to  reach 
a  great  many  questionings,  and  not  know 
what  to  do  with  them.  Let  me  suppose  a 
case.  We  will  say  the  people  live  in  China, 
and  become  deeply  interested  in  each  other. 
In  the  course  of  time  one  of  them  goes  to 


NEW  LINES  OF  WORK.  335 

the  Fiji  Islands  for  instance,  and  meets  a  mis 
sionary,  and  comes  somewhat  under  her  in 
fluence —  enough,  we  will  say,  to  make  her 
uncomfortable  and  to  make  her  suspect  that 
she  is  a  good  deal  of  a  heathen  herself, 
though  she  was  a  member  in  good  and 
regular  standing  of  a  church  in  China.  To 
make  the  circumstances  more  interesting 
you  may  suppose  that  one  of  the  converted 
heathen  begins  to  interest  himself  in  her, 
and  to  enlighten  her  as  to  the  power  of 
genuine  religion  over  the  heathen  heart  and 
mind  to  such  an  extent  that  she  is  almost 
sure  she  knows  nothing  about  it  experiment 
ally  ;  and  at  the  same  time  has  a  yearning 
desire  to  know  and  to  receive  the  mysteri 
ous  something  which  she  discovers  in  this 
one.  We  will  also  suppose  that  she  receives 
letters  from  China  occasionally,  which  show 
her  that  the  other  party  has  met  neither 
missionary  nor  heathen  to  impress  him  in 
any  way,  and  that  his  plans  and  determina 
tions  are  all  of  the  earth  and  decidedly 
earthy,  and  yet  that  he  is  disposed  to  think 
that  the  lady  ought  to  be  thinking  about  re- 


336  INTERRUPTED. 

turning  to  China,  and  joining  him  in  his  ef 
fort  to  have  a  good  time.  What,  in  your 
estimation,  ought  the  half-awakened  Fiji  resi 
dent  to  do?" 

"Alice,  is  some  not  very  distant  city  rep 
resenting  China  ?  and  is  South  Plains  Fiji  ? 
and  is  Bud  the  converted  heathen  ? " 

"  There  is  enough  witcli  about  you  to 
have  secured  you  a  very  warm  experience 
in  the  olden  days.  Never  mind  translating, 
if  3rou  please ;  this  was  not  to  be  in  Eng 
lish.  What  ought  the  Fiji  to  do?" 

"  I  should  think  there  could  be  no  ques 
tion.  A  half-awakened  person  would  still  be 
in  danger  of  dropping  back  into  darkness, 
and  should,  as  surely  as  she  believes  in  the 
petition,  'lead  me  not  into  temptation,' guard 
against  anything  that  would  be  a  contradic 
tion  to  that  prayer." 

"  Well,  but  suppose  this  half-awakened  per 
son  were  married  to  the  party  in  China  — 
what  then?" 

"  That  would  be  a  very  different  matter. 
The  irrevocable  vows  would  have  been  taken 
before  the  world ;  the  '  until  death  do  you 


NEW    LINES    OF.  WORK.  337 

part '  would  have  been  accepted,  and  there 
would  be  no  liberty  of  choice." 

"I  don't  see  the  reasoning  clearly.  Sup 
pose  a  person  should  take  a  vow  to  commit 
murder,  and  announce  her  determination  be 
fore  the  world  to  do  so,  with  as  solemn  a 
vow  as  you  please,  ought  her  conscience  to 
hold  her?  Not,"  she  added,  with  a  slight 
and  embarrassed  laugh,  "  that  I  would  put 
the  idea  of  murder  as  a  parallel  case  with 
the  other  imagining.  I  don't  mean  anything, 
you  know,  by  all  this ,  I  am  simply  dealing 
with  some  imaginary  people  in  China." 

But  Claire  did  not  smile,  and  held  herself 
carefully  to  the  analogy  of  the  illustration : 

"  You  are  supposing  a  moral  impossibility, 
Alice.  No  one  would  be  allowed  to  take  a 
public  and  solemn  oath  to  commit  murder. 
The  very  oath  would  be  a  violation  of  the 
laws  of  God  and  of  the  land;  but  in  the 
other  case,  the  oath  taken  professes  to  be 
in  keeping  with  God's  revealed  will  and  with 
the  demands  of  respectable  society.  Surely, 
you  see  what  an  infinite  difference  this  would 
make." 


33$  INTERRUPTED. 

"  Ah,  yes,  of  course.  Well,  I'll  suppose 
one  thing  more.  For  purposes  of  conveni 
ence,  let  us  have  these  two  people  engaged 
to  each  other,  but  the  pledge  not,  consum 
mated  before  the  public  —  what  then  ?  " 

But  over  this  question  Claire  kept  a 
troubled  silence. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  at  last  ;  "  I 
am  not  sure  how  that  ought  to  be  answered. 
Perhaps  it  is  one  of  the  things  which  each 
individual  is  called  upon  to  answer  for  him 
self,  or  herself,  taking  it  to  God  for  special 
light.  A  betrothal  seems  to  me  a  very 
solemn  thing,  not  to  be  either  entered  into,  or 
broken,  lightly,  and  yet  I  can  conceive  ol 
circumstances  wherein  it  would  be  right  to 
break  the  pledge  —  where  it  was  wrong  ever 
to  have  made  it — and  two  wrongs  cannot 
make  a  right,  you  know.  But  Alice,  this  is 
dangerous  ground.  I  am  almost  inclined  to 
think  it  is  ground  where  a  third  party,  on 
the  human  side,  should  not  intermeddle;  at 
least,  unless  it  is  one  who  has  far  more 
wisdom  than  I.  It  is  not  possible  for  me 
to  advise  you  in  this." 


NEW    LINES    OF    WORK.  339 

"  You  have  advised  me,"  Alice  said,  with 
exceeding  gravity.  "  All  I  wanted  was  your 
individual  opinion,  and  that  you  have  given 
plainly,  though  you  may  not  be  aware  of 
it.  When  one  knows  one  is  doing  a  thing 
that  is  wrong,  I  suppose  the  time  has  come 
to  draw  back." 

"  If  the  drawing  back  can  right  the  wrong." 

"  It  can  help  toward  it.  These  people  — 
who  live  in  China,  remember  —  are  perhaps 
among  those  who  ought  never  to  have  made 
the  pledge.  However,  let  us  drop  them.  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about  a  more  import 
ant  matter." 

Still  she  did  not  talk,  but  relapsed  again 
into  troubled  silence,  and  Claire,  not  know 
ing  what  to  say,  waited,  and  said  nothing. 

"  Would  you  marry  a  man,  if  you  thought 
you  might  possibly  be  the  means  of  saving 
his  soul?" 

Claire  was  startled  and  a  trifle  disturbed 
to  think  that  the  conversation  was  still  to 
run  in  a  channel  with  which  she  was  so 
unfamiliar.  Still,  this  first  question  was  com 
paratively  easy  to  deal  with. 


340  INTERRUPTED, 

"  That  might  depend  on  whether  I  could  do 
so  without  assuming  false  vows.  I  could  not 
promise  a  lie  for  the  sake  of  saving  any 
soul.  Besides,  it  being  wrong  in  itself,  I 
would  have  no  reason  to  hope  that  it  would 
be  productive  of  any  good  ^  for  God  does 
not  save  souls  by  means  which  are  sinful. 
Why  do  you  ask  me  all  these  questions, 
Alice?  I  have  no  experience,  and  am  not 
wise.  I  wish  you  would  seek  a  better  coun 
selor/' 

"  Never  mind ,  I  have  all  the  counsel  I 
desire.  I  am  not  talking  about  those  peo 
ple  in  China  any  more,  though  you  think 
I  am.  I  was  thinking  of  you,  and  of  some 
body  who  is  in  danger,  and  whom  I  believe 
you  could  save,  but  I  know  you  won't  —  at 
least  not  in  that  way.  Claire  Benedict,  I 
am  troubled  about  my  brother.  Tell  me 
this,  do  you  know  that  he  is  in  danger  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  Claire,  her  voice  low  and 
troubled. 

"  Do  you  know  from  what  source  I  mean  ?  " 

"  I    think  I    do." 

"I   thought    you   did    else   I   am   not    sure 


HEW   LINES    OF   WORK.  341 

that  my  pride  would  have  allowed  me  to 
open  my  lips.  Well,  do  you  know  there  is 
something  you  might  do  to  help  him  ? " 

"Alice." 

"  No,  you  are  not  to  interrupt  me.  I  don't 
mean  anything  insulting.  There  are  ways  of 
which  I  would  be  more  sure,  and  they  are 
connected  with  you,  but  I  know  they  are 
out  of  the  question.  I  am  not  going  to  talk 
of  them.  But  there  is  something  I  want  you 
to  do.  I  want  you  to  talk  with  mamma. 
It  is  of  no  use  for  me  to  say  a  word  to 
her.  There  are  family  reasons  why  she  is 
specially  vexed  with  me  just  now,  and  will 
not  listen  reasonabty  to  anything  that  I 
might  say.  But  she  respects  you,  and  likes 
you,  and  you  have  more  or  less  influence 
over  her.  Are  you  willing  to  use  it  for 
Louis'  sake  ?  " 

"  But,  my  dear  Alice,  I  do  not  understand 
you  in  the  least.  What  could  I  say  to  your 
mother  that  she  does  not  already  know  ? 
and  in  any  case,  how  could  she  materially 
help  your  brother?  He  needs  the  help  of 
his  own  will." 


342  INTERRUPTED. 

"  That  is  true ,  but  there  are  ways  in 
which  mamma  might  help  him,  if  she  would. 
I  can  tell  you  of  some.  In  the  first  place, 
you  are  mistaken  as  to  her  knowledge.  She 
knows,  it  is  true,  that  he  takes  more  wine 
occasionally  than  is  good  for  him,  and  has 
violent  headaches  in  consequence ;  but  she 
does  not  know  that  two  nights  in  a  week, 
at  least,  he  comes  home  intoxicated !  Isn't 
that  a  terrible  thing  to  say  of  one's  brother? 
What  has  become  of  the  Ansted  pride,  when 
I  can  say  it  to  almost  a  stranger  ? " 
"  Why  does  not  your  mother  know  ? " 
"  Partly  because  she  is  blind,  and  partly 
because  I  have  promised  Louis  not  to  tell 
her,  and  partly  because  there  are  reasons 
why  it  would  be  especially  hard  on  my 
mother  to  have  this  knowledge  brought  to 
her  through  me.  You  see  there  are  reasons 
enough.  Now  for  what  she  could  do.  Claire, 
she  fairly  drives  him  into  temptation.  There 
is  a  certain  house  in  the  city  which  she  is 
very  anxious  to  see  united  to  ours.  She  con 
trives  daily  pretexts  for  sending  Louis  there, 
and  it  is  almost  impossible  for  him  to  go 


NEW    LINES    OF    WORK.  343 

there  without  coming  home  the  worse  for 
liquor.  I  wish  I  could  talk  more  plainly  to 
you.  I  will  tell  you  this.  There  is  a  brother 
as  well  as  a  sister  in  that  house,  and  it  has 
been  a  pet  dream  of  my  mother  to  exchange 
the  sons  and  daughters.  It  is  a  romantic, 
Old  World  scheme,  grown  up  with  the  fam 
ilies  from  their  early  days ;  and  mamma,  who 
has  never  been  accustomed  to  having  her 
plans  thwarted,  is  in  danger  of  seeing  all  of 
these  come  to  naught,  and  more  than  half 
believes  that  I  am  plotting  against  it  for 
Louis,  having  first  shown  myself  to  be  an 
undutiful  and  ungrateful  daughter.  Do  you 
see  how  entirely  my  tongue  is  silenced?  I 
wonder  if  you  do  understand  ? " 

"  I  understand,  my  dear  friend,  and  I 
thank  you  for  your  confidence ;  but  I  do 
not  see  how  a  stranger  can  help,  or  indeed, 
can  interfere  in  any  way,  without  being 
guilty  of  gross  rudeness.  How  could  I  hope 
to  approach  your  mother  on  such  subjects  as 
these,  without  having  her  feel  herself  in 
sulted  ?  " 

Alice   made    a   gesture   of  impatience. 


344  INTERRUPTED. 

"You  can  not"  she  said,  "if  you  think 
more  of  the  irritable  words  that  a  troubled 
mother  may  say  to  you  than  you  do  of  a 
soul  in  peril ;  but  I  did  not  think  you  were 
of  that  sort." 

Claire   waited   a   moment   before   replying. 

"I  think  I  may  be  trusted  to  try  to  do  what 
seems  right,  even  though  it  were  personally 
hard,"  she  said  at  last,  speaking  very 
gently ;  "  but,  Alice,  I  do  not  understand 
how  words  of  mine  could  do  other  than 
mischief." 

"I  can  show  you.  This  family,  I  have 
told  you,  is  a  continual  snare  to  Louis.  He 
simply  can  not  go  there  without  being  led 
into  great  temptation,  and  mamma  is  respon 
sible  for  the  most  of  his  visits.  It  would 
not  be  difficult  for  Louis  to  remain  away, 
if  mamma  did  not  make  errands  for  him. 
He  would  go  abroad  with  the  Husons  next 
week,  and  be  safe  from  this  and  many  other 
temptations,  or  he  would  go  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains  with  Harold  Chessney  —  and  he 
could  not  be  in  better  society  —  if  mamma 
would  give  her  consent ,  and  she  would,  if 


NEW    LINES    OF    WORK.  345 

she  could  be  made  to  realize  his  peril  —  if 
she  knew  that  outsiders  were  talking  about 
it.  Don't  you  see  ? 

"  Now,  who  is  going  to  enlighten  her  ?  I 
am  not  in  favor — less  so  just  at  present 
than  ever  before ;  the  girls,  poor  young 
things,  do  not  know  of  our  disgrace,  and 
would  have  no  influence  with  mamma  if  they 
did,  and  papa  would  like  the  alliance  from 
a  business  point  of  view  as  well  as  mamma 
would  from  a  romantic  and  fashionable  one. 
Do  you  see  the  accumulation  of  troubles? 
and  do  you  imagine,  I  wonder,  what  it  is  to 
me,  when  I  have  humbled  myself  to  tell  it 
all  to  you?" 

"  And  this  young  lady  ? "  said  Claire,  ig 
noring  the  personal  questions.  "  Do  you  feel 
sure  that  there  is  no  hope  of  help  from  that 
source?  Is  not  her  interest  deep  enough 
and  her  influence  strong  enough  to  come  to 
the  rescue  if  she  fully  understood?" 

There  was  again  that  gesture  of  extreme 
impatience. 

"  That  young  lady  !  She  has  no  more  charac 
ter  than  a  painted  doll  !  Claire  Benedict,  she  is 


346  INTERRUPTED. 

in  as  great  danger  to-day  as  Louis  is,  and  from 
the  same  source  !  She  dances  every  night,  and 
buoys  up  her  flagging  strength  by  stimulants 
every  day.  I  have  seen  her  repeatedly  when 
she  was  so  excited  with  wine  that  I  knew 
she  did  not  know  what  she  was  saying." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  This  was  Claire's  start 
led  exclamation. 

"It  is  not  only  possible,  but  is  an  almost 
daily  occurrence.  And  she  fills  the  glass  with 
her  own  silly  little  hand,  which  trembles  at 
the  moment  with  the  excitement  of  wine, 
and  holds  it  to  my  brother,  and  he,  poor, 
foolish  boy !  accepts  it  because  he  knows  that 
he  likes  it  better  than  anything  else  in  the 
world  —  at  least,  that  is  attainable.  Claire, 
if  my  mother  could  be  prevailed  upon  to 
urge  Louis  to  go  away  with  Harold  Chess- 
ney,  I  believe  he  might  be  saved." 

"Who   is    Harold   Chessney?" 

"  He  is  one  of  God's  saints,  made  for  the 
purpose  of  showing  us  what  a  man  might 
be,  if  he  would.  Claire  Benedict,  will  you 
try?" 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

UNPALATABLE  TRUTHS. 

YES,"   said   Claire,    "I   will   try." 
But    she    said    it    with    a    long-drawn 
sigh.     This    was   work   that    was    utterly   dis 
tasteful   to    her,  and   she   saw  but   little   hope 
of    accomplishing    anything   by   attempting    it. 

She  wanted  to  fight  the  demon  of  alcohol 
wherever  found  —  at  least,  she  had  thought 
that  she  did ;  but  who  would  have  supposed 
that  it  could  bring  her  into  such  strange 
contact  with  Mrs.  Russel  Ansted? 

In  order  that  you  may  understand  why 
this  plan  of  rescue  had  suggested  itself  to 
Alice  Ansted's  mind,  it  will  be  necessary 
to  explain  that  the  acquaintance  which  had 
been  commenced  by  accident  had  been  al 
lowed  to  mature  into  what  might  almost  be 
called  friendship. 

347 


348  INTERRUPTED. 

At  least,  it  had  pleased  Mrs.  Ansted  to 
encourage  the  intimacy  between  her  young 
people  and  the  attractive  music-teacher. 

"  It  is  not  as  though  she  had  been  simply 
a  music-teacher,  and  nothing  else,  all  her 
life,"  was  Mrs.  Ansted  wont  to  explain  to 
her  city  friends.  "  She  is  a  daughter  of  the 
Boston  Benedicts,  and,  of  course,  her  oppor 
tunities  have  been  rare.  She  is  simply 
faultless  in  her  manners ;  the  girls  learn  a 
great  deal  from  her,  and  are  devoted  to  her , 
and  she  really  is  a  charming  companion. 
You  know  in  the  country  we  have  no  so 
ciety." 

So  Claire  had  been  made  almost  oppres 
sively  welcome  to  the  lovely  house  on  the 
hill,  and  the  sleigh  or  the  carriage  had 
been  sent  for  her  many  times  when  she 
could  not  go,  and  in  many  kind  and  pleas-- 
ant  ways  had  the  entire  family  sought  to 
show  their  interest  in  her  society.  Mrs. 
Ansted,  indeed,  patronized  her  to  such  an 
extent  that  Alice  had  made  herself  imagine 
that  in  this  direction  might  be  found  the 
light  which  would  open  the  mother's  eyes 


UNPALATABLE   TRUTHS.  349 

to   certain   things  which  she  ought  to  see  and 
did   not. 

Claire  did  not  share  her  hopes.  She  had 
always  felt  herself  held  back  from  real  heart 
intimacy  with  the  fair  and  worldly  woman ; 
had  always  detected  the  tinge  of  patronage  in 
the  kindness  shown  her,  and  had  even  smiled 
sometimes  at  the  thought  of  how  the  very  at 
tentions  which  she  received  placidly,  and,  in 
a  sense  gratefully,  would  chafe  her  hot-headed 
young  sister  Dora.  It  had  given  her  joy  of 
heart  and  cause  for  gratitude  to  realize  that 
she  herself  had  been  lifted  above  such  chafings. 
There  were  trials  in  her  lot,  but  Mrs.  An- 
sted's  patronage  was  not  one  of  them.  Still 
it  made  her  feel  that  little  would  be  gained 
by  attempted  interference  in  her  family  af 
fairs.  Under  the  circumstances,  she  felt  her 
self  intrusive,  yet  determined  to  submit  and 
thereby  convince  Alice  of  her  willingness  and 
powerlessness.  The  most  she  had  to  fear 
was  a  little  drawing  up  of  the  aristocratic 
shoulders,  and  a  cold  and  courteous  hint 
that  some  things  belonged  exclusively  to  the 
domain  of  very  close  friendship. 


35O  INTERRUPTED. 

It  was  on  the  following  Saturday  that  op 
portunity  offered  for  an  attempt.  Claire  was 
spending  the  day  with  the  Ansteds ;  the  in 
vitation  had  come  from  the  mother,  and  was 
unusually  cordial.  Louis  was  in  town,  would 
probably  remain  over  the  Sabbath,  and  the 
girls  were  lonely.  The  mother  did  not  know 
how  much  more  readily  the  invitation  was 
accepted  because  Louis  was  in  town. 

They  were  in  Mrs.  Ansted's  own  sitting- 
room.  The  young  girls  had  been  called  to 
the  sewing-room  at  the  mandate  of  the  dress 
maker,  and  Alice,  telegraphing  Claire  that 
now  was  her  opportunity,  slipped  away. 
Have  you  ever  observed  how  much  harder 
it  becomes  to  set  about  a  delicate  and  em 
barrassing  duty  when  circumstances  have  been 
carefully  made  for  you,  and  you  are  left  to 
stare  in  the  face  the  thought  "  I  am  to  do 
this  thing,  now;  it  is  expected  of  me?" 

Immediately  Claire  began  to  feel  that  it 
would  be  preposterous  in  her  to  try  to  ad 
vise  or  enlighten  Mrs.  Ansted.  But  that 
lady  unconsciously  helped  her  by  asking: 

"Did  you    ever   meet    Mr.  Harold  Chessney 


UNPALATABLE   TRUTHS.  351 

in  Boston  ?  I  believe  he  calls  that  his  home, 
though  he  is  abroad  a  great  deal.  I  wish 
he  were  abroad  now,  instead  of  planning  an 
excursion  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  all 
sorts  of  out-of-the-world  places,  and  putting 
Louis  into  a  fever  to  accompany  him.  I 
have  a  horror  of  those  Western  expeditions 
entered  into  by  young  men.  Louis  will  not 
go  contrary  to  my  approval,  however,  so  I 
need  not  worry  about  it.  It  is  a  great 
comfort  to  a  mother  to  have  a  dutiful  son, 
my  dear." 

"  It  must  be,"  Claire  hastened  to  say,  but 
added  that  she  should  think  it  would  be  a 
delightful  trip  for  a  young  man,  and  a  rare 
opportunity  to  see  his  own  country.  She 
was  not  personally  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Chessney,  but  she  had  heard  him  very  highly 
spoken  of. 

"  Oh,  he  is  perfection,  I  suppose,"  Mrs. 
Ansted  said  carelessly;  "too  perfect,  my 
dear,  for  ordinary  flesh  and  blood.  He  is 
very  wealthy  and  very  eccentric ;  has  innum 
erable  ways  for  wasting  his  money  on  sav 
ages,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  should 


35  2  INTERRUPTED. 

really  almost  fear  his  influence  over  Louis, 
he  is  such  an  impressible  boy.  Harold  might 
fancy  it  his  duty  to  become  a  home  mis 
sionary."  This  last  was  spoken  with  a  little 
satisfied  laugh,  as  though  Louis  Ansted's 
position  was  too  well  assured,  after  all,  to 
suggest  any  reasonable  fears  of  his  sinking 
to  the  level  of  a  home  missionary !  The 
matron  speedily  composed  her  face,  however, 
and  added: 

"  Harold  is  a  magnificent  man,  I  have  no 
doubt,  and  if  Louis  were  a  young  man  of 
depraved  tendencies  and  low  tastes,  probably 
I  should  hope  for  nothing  better  than  to  ex 
ile  him  for  awhile  with  such  a  guard ;  but 
in  his  position,  and  with  his  prospects,  the 
idea  is,  of  course,  absurd.  I  don't  know 
what  fancies  Alice  has  in  mind,  the  child 
seems  quite  to  favor  Louis'  going.  Alice  is 
a  little  inclined  to  be  fanatical,  I  am  afraid, 
in  some  things.  I  hope  you  will  not  en 
courage  such  tendencies,  my  dear.  I  have 
seen  with  pleasure  that  she  is  becoming  more 
interested  in  religion,  and  disposed  to  Tielp 
poor  Bud,  though  she  has  chosen  some  fool- 


UNPALATABLE   TRUTHS.  353 

ish  ways  of  doing  that- — but  still  it  is  quite 
as  it  should  be  to  rouse  to  the  importance 
of  these  things ;  I  have  been  pained  with 
her  indifference  in  the  past.  However,  we 
should  not  carry  anything  to  extremes,  you 
know." 

They  were  not  getting  on.  Claire  did 
not  feel  like  a  diplomatist.  She  was  dis 
posed  to  be  straightforward.  Would  not  sim 
ple  truth  serve  her  purpose  in  this  case  ? 
At  least,  it  would  be  less  humiliating  than 
to  try  to  worm  herself  into  family  confi 
dences.  So  she  spoke  her  plain  question : 

"  Mrs.  Ansted,  has  it  never  seemed  to  you 
that  it  would  be  well  for  Louis  to  get 
away  for  a  time  from  some  of  his  associates 
who  tempt  him  in  the  direction  in  which  he 
is  least  able  to  bear  temptation  ? " 

Plain  English  was  not  palatable,  or  else 
it  was  not  understood.  Two  red  spots  glowed 
on  the  mother's  cheek,  but  her  eyes  were 
cold. 

"  And  what  is  that,  if  you  please  ?  I  was 
not  aware  that  my  son  was  particularly  sus 
ceptible  to  any  temptation." 


354  INTERRUPTED. 

Could  this  be  true  ?  Did  she  not  know 
that  he  was  tempted  to  reel  home  at  mid 
night  like  a  common  drunkard  ?  If  so,  what 
an  awful  revelation  for  a  stranger  to  make  ! 

Claire  hesitated,  and  the  lady  looked  stead 
ily  at  her  and  waited.  Simple  truth  should 
serve  her  again  ;  it  would  be  insulting  to  offer 
anything  else. 

"Mrs.  Ansted,  you  will  pardon  me  for  re 
ferring  to  it,  but  I  know  from  your  son's 
own  statements  that  he  is  tempted  in  the 
direction  of  liquor,  and  that  he  finds  it 
hard  to  resist  these  temptations,  and  I  am 
afraid  he  is  in  great  danger.  If  I  were  his 
mother,  and  had  confidence  in  this  Mr. 
Chessney,  I  should  beg  him  to  go  out  with 
him,  and  break  away  from  his  present  sur 
roundings." 

She  was  deceived  in  the  mother  —  in  the 
calm  with  which  she  listened  to  these  words. 
She  did  not  cry  out  like  one  amazed  and 
hurt,  nor  did  she  look  like  one  who  was 
being  shocked  into  a  faint ;  and  Claire,  watch 
ing  her,  hurried  on,  determined  to  make  her 
disagreeable  revelations  as  brief  as  she  could, 


UNPALATABLE   TRUTHS.  355 

and  then  to  get  away  from  the  subject. 
Surely  the  mother  could  not  feel  much  hu 
miliated  before  her,  when  she  confessed  that 
she  had  received  these  intimations  from  the  son. 

But  directly  her  voice  ceased,  the  mother 
arose,  her  own  tones  low  and  ladylike  as 
usual : 

"  I  am  not  aware,  Miss  Benedict,  that  our 
kind  treatment  of  you  can  have  furnished 
any  excuse  for  this  direct  and  open  insult. 
I  did  not  know  that  you  had  succeeded  in 
securing  my  son's  confidence  to  such  a  de 
gree  that  he  had  been  led  to  traduce  his 
friends.  I  can  not  imagine  his  motive ;  but 
allow  me  to  say  that  yours  is  plain,  and 
will  fail.  The  lady  to  whom  Mr.  Louis 
Ansted  has  been  paying  special  attention 
for  years,  can  not  be  thrown  off,  even  by 
his  taking  a  trip  to  the  Rocky  Mountains ; 
and  if  you  hope  to  ingratiate  yourself  in 
the  mother's  heart  by  trying  to  arouse  her 
fears,  you  have  made  a  grievous  mistake. 
My  daughters  are  evidently  more  susceptU 
ble,  and  I  now  understand  some  things  that 
were  before  mysterious  to  me. 


356  INTERRUPTED. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Miss  Benedict.  I 
can  well  imagine  that  it  is  a  hard  thing  to 
be  poor ;  but  it  is  a  pity  to  add  disgrace 
to  poverty.  You  have  been  unwise  to  try 
to  work  up  fanatical  ideas  on  my  son.  We 
are  none  of  us  temperance  fanatics." 

There  was  a  dangerous  fire  in  Claire's 
eyes,  but  she  struggled  to  keep  back  the 
words  that  hurried  forward,  clamoring  to  be 
spoken.  This  woman  before  her  was  old 
enough  to  be  her  mother,  and  was  the 
mother  of  a  young  man  whom  she  would 
try  to  save. 

Besides,  she  had  the  force  of  habit  to 
help  her.  The  controlled  voice  which  be 
longs  to  the  cultured  lady,  even  under 
strong  provocation,  was  as  much  a  part  of 
her  as  it  was  of  Mrs.  Ansted. 

"  I  will  pass  by  your  personalities,  Mrs. 
Ansted,  as  unworthy  of  you,  and  ask  you 
to  pardon  my  apparent  intrusion  into  family 
affairs,  on  the  sole  ground  that  I  have 
come  into  possession  of  some  knowledge 
concerning  your  son'o  danger  which  I  have 
reason  to  believe  you  do  not  possess,  and  I 


UNPALATABLE   TRUTHS. 


thought  I  ought,  as  a  Christian  woman,  to 
warn  you." 

Mrs.  Ansted  was  already  repenting  of 
some  of  her  words  —  beginning,  that  is,  to 
realize  that  she  had  been  unnecessarily  in 
sulting  to  a  guest  in  her  own  home,  and 
one  whom  her  son,  as  well  as  her  daugh 
ters,  liked  and  admired.  She  was  not  less 
angry,  but  more  controlled. 

"Possibly  you  mean  well,"  she  said,  drop 
ping  into  the  patronizing  tone  which  was 
habitual,  "  and  I  may  have  spoken  too 
plainly,  in  my  haste  ;  a  mother's  feelings, 
when  she  considers  the  characters  of  her 
children  insulted,  are  sometimes  not  suffi 
ciently  held  in  check.  We  will  conclude, 
Miss  Benedict,  that  your  motive  was  good, 
though  your  words  were  unfortunate,  and 
your  conclusions  unwarrantable.  My  son  is 
entirely  capable  of  taking  care  of  himself. 
If  you  are  really  sincere  in  supposing  him 
to  be  in  danger,  because  he  takes  an  occa 
sional  glass  of  wine,  it  only  proves  you 
to  be  lamentably  ignorant  of  the  customs 
of  polite  society.  And  now  I  must  beg 


INTERRUPTED. 


you  to  excuse  me.  Excitement  always 
wearies  me,  and  I  feel  that  I  must  lie 
down  for  awhile.  I  presume  my  daughter 
will  be  in  soon." 

And  Claire  was  left  alone  to  gather  her 
startled  thoughts  and  determine  what  to  do 
next.  She  was  greatly  excited.  In  all  her 
imaginings  of  a  mother's  heart,  nothing  of 
this  kind  had  occurred. 

It  had  been  a  serious  failure,  as  she  had 
feared  it  would  be,  but  not  of  the  kind 
which  she  had  planned. 

She  looked  about  her  for  paper  on  which 
to  write  a  line  to  Alice  ;  then  determined 
that  she  would  do  no  such  thing,  lest  Alice 
might  have  to  bear  blame  in  consequence. 

She  would  just  slip  quietly  away,  and  go 
home  and  think.  It  was  not  clear  in  her 
mind  what  ought  to  be  said  to  Alice.  She 
had  been  insulted,  and  by  Alice's  mother, 
and  she  could  not  longer  remain  a  guest  in 
the  house  ,  but  perhaps  it  was  not  neces 
sary  that  Alice  should  know  all  this.  She 
must  wait,  and  think,  and  pray. 

At  least,   it   would    not    be   wise    to   make 


UNPALATABLE    TRUTHS.  359 

any  expression  about  Mrs.  Ansted  until  she 
could  think  less  bitterly  of  the  words  spoken 
to  her ;  for  it  is  by  no  means  a  pleasant 
thing  to  be  misjudged,  and  it  is  especially 
difficult  to  keep  one's  mouth  closed  when 
one  has  that  to  tell  which  would  silence  all 
the  hints  forever.  It  had  required  all  the 
self-control  which  Claire  possessed  not  to 
tell  Mrs.  Ansted  to  ask  her  son  whether 
the  insinuations  which  had  been  flung  at 
her  meant  anything.  Certainly  she  was  not 
in  the  mood  to  have  an  interview  with 
Alice. 

She  hastily  and  quietly  possessed  herself 
of  her  wraps,  and  stole  out  of  the  house 
and  down  the  avenue  which  had  in  the 
few  weeks  past  become  so  familiar  to  her. 
Bud  saw  her  from  the  distant  stables,  but 
he  only  made  her  a  most  respectful  bow. 
It  was  no  strange  sight  to  him.  He  knew 
that  she  came  and  went  often  during  these 
days;  he  did  not  know  she  was  thinking 
that  in  all  probability  she  would  never  walk 
down  that  avenue  again. 

There    is    no   use     explaining    to   you    that 


360  INTERRUPTED. 

she  cried  when  she  reached  home ;  cried 
bitterly,  and  with  a  perfect  abandon,  as 
though  her  heart  were  broken.  She  was 
young  and  had  not  had  many  hard  words 
to  bear,  and  all  her  sharp  thrusts  from  life 
had  come  upon  her  lately ;  her  knowledge 
of  human  nature  had  been  increasing  with 
painful  rapidity,  and  there  were  times  when 
she  shrank  from  it  all,  and  wanted  to  go 
to  her  father. 

But  after  the  crying  —  or,  indeed,  in  the 
very  midst  of  it  —  she  pra}^ed  :  for  herself 
first—  she  felt  so  sore,  and  ill-used,  and 
friendless  ;  then  for  Louis  Ansted  —  the  spe 
cial  danger  and  the  special  friendlessness  of 
a  man  with  such  a  mother,  took  hold  of 
her  with  power,  and  at  last  she  prayed  for 
the  mother ;  not  at  her,  but  for  her. 

There  is  a  way  of  praying  about  a  soul 
with  whom  we  are  offended  —  or,  at  least, 
we  call  it  praying  —  which  is  simply  pour 
ing  out  one's  knowledge  of  that  person's 
shortcomings  in  an  almost  vindictive  way 
before  the  One  whom  we  almost  uncon 
sciously  feel  ought  to  come  to  our  help  and 


UNPALATABLE    TRUTHS.  361 

administer  rebuke.  Claire  honestly  prayed 
for  Louis  Ansted's  mother.  Her  eyes  must 
be  opened,  but  how?  Must  it  be  that  they 
were  to  be  opened  by  the  utter  ruin  of 
her  only  son  ? 

That  this  might  not  be  necessary,  Claire 
prayed,  and  rqse  up  presently,  almost  for 
getful  that  she  had  received  deep  wounds, 
and  quite  ready  to  shield  that  mother's 
shortcomings  from  her  children. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

EECOGNITION. 

AND  now  I  desire  you  to  imagine  the 
worshipers  gathered  one  morning  in  the 
little  church  at  South  Plains.  The  winter 
over  and  gone ;  the  time  of  the  singing  of 
birds  and  of  sweet-scented  flowers  had  come. 
The  marvel  of  the  annual  resurrection  from 
the  grave  of  winter  was  being  lived  over 
again  in  nature.  But  within  the  sanctuary 
it  seemed  more  than  resurrection,  almost 
creation.  Was  it  the  same  church  at  all? 
What  had  become  of  the  dusty  floors,  and 
the  smoky  walls,  and  the  rusty  stove-pipe, 
and  the  smoking  stoves,  and  the  square  table, 
and  the  swaying,  faded,  red  curtains,  and  the 
faded  and  worn  ingrain  rag  which  had  cov 
ered  the  platform,  and  the  dust,  and  the  rust 

and   the   dreariness  ?     What   a    strange     effect 

362 


RECOGNITION.  363 

that  paper  of  a  quiet  tint,  and  yet  with  a 
suggestion  of  sunlight  in  it,  had  on  those 
hitherto  bare  and  smoky  walls !  How  high 
the  frescoing  made  the  ceiling  look !  What 
an  excellent  imitation  of  "  real "  were  the 
carefully-grained  seats !  How  perfectly  the 
carpet  harmonized  in  pattern  and  coloring 
with  the  paper  on  the  walls  !  Small  wonder, 
this  last,  if  you  had  known  how  many  pa 
tient  hours  mamma  and  Dora  had  spent  in 
reaching  the  important  decision,  "  Which 
shall  we  send?" 

As  for  the  pulpit,  it  was  "real*"  without 
any  paint  about  it,  and  so  neat,  and  pretty, 
and  graceful,  that  the  girls  had  exhausted 
all  adjectives  on  it.  And  really,  the  stove 
pipe,  though  it  wandered  about  according  to 
some  wild  freak  that  was  considered  neces 
sary  in  order  to  "draw,"  did  not  look  so 
objectionable  now  that  it  was  real  Russia  > 
and  nothing  could  glow  more  brilliantly  than 
the  stoves,  which  smoked  no  more.  Engineer 
Bud  had  been  a  success. 

Still,  I  know  that  I  can  not  make  you 
realize  the  difference  in  that  church.  Unless 


364  INTERRUPTED. 

you  were  there  on  that  dreary  winter  morn 
ing  when  Claire  Benedict  first  looked  upon 
it  with  utter  sinking  of  heart,  and  then 
were  there  again  on  that  spring  morning, 
and  caught  the  breath  of  the  flowers,  and 
saw  the  shimmer  of  awakened  life  over 
everything  within  and  without,  you  will 
never  understand  it.  Unless,  indeed,  you 
look  up  some  other  man-forsaken  sanctuary, 
and  try  the  delightful  experiment  of  trans 
formation. 

There  were  those  in  South  Plains  who 
knew  and  felt  the  difference. 

They  gathered  softly,  the  worshipers,  the 
men  on  tiptoe,  though  they  need  not  have 
done  that,  for  the  heavy  carpet  gave  back 
no  sound  of  footfall,  but  it  was  one  of 
their  ways  of  expressing  admiration  and  rev 
erence.  They  gave  quick,  admiring,  amazed 
glances  about  them,  then  riveted  their  eyes, 
as  the  workers  had  meant  they  should,  on 
the  motto  which  glowed  before  them,  strung 
from  lamp  to  lamp  in  some  spirit-like  fashion 
which  those  unacquainted  with  the  management 
of  silver  ware  cannot  comprehend,  and  which 


RECOGNITION.  365 

made  the  triumphant  announcement:  "THE 
LOUD  is  IN  HIS  HOLY  TEMPLE."  And  I  tell 
you  that,  so  much  has  the  outward  and 
tangible  to  do  with  our  spiritual  vision, 
there  were  those  present  who  grasped  this 
stupendous  fact  for  the  first  time. 

The  organ  squeaked  no  more.  It  had  only 
been  a  matter  of  a  drop  of  oil  which  quieted 
that,  and  yet  that  congregation  had  actually 
sat  under  its  squeak  almost  for  years !  So 
many  things  in  this  world  squeak  for  the 
want  of  a  thoughtful  hand  to  administer  a 
drop  of  oil ! 

Then  the  choir  —  that  almost  hardest  thing 
in  country  or  city  to  manage  successfully  — 
had  been  transformed.  There  had  been  no 
violent  wrenches;  occasionally  it  happens  that 
a  combination  of  circumstances  bring  about 
unlooked-for  and  delightful  results.  The  dis 
cordant  alto  had  married,  bless  her,  and  gone  to 
another  town  ;  the  flatting  tenor  had  sprained 
his  ankle,  poor  man,  and  must  needs  abide 
at  home.  The  tremendous  bass  had  that 
rare  quality,  common-sense,  and  discovered  on 
the  evening  of  the  concert  that  South  Plains 


366  INTERRUPTED. 

had  taken  a  musical  prize,  and  was  himself 
the  one  to  propose  that  Miss  Benedict  and 
her  class  should  be  invited  to  join  the  choir, 
and  further,  that  Miss  Benedict  should  be  re 
quested  to  drill  the  choir,  and  had  put 
himself  under  training,  and  his  voice  being 
really  grand,  he  bade  fair,  under  culture, 
to  become  the  power  in  song  that  God  de 
signed. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  accident, 
or  a  blessed  design,  that  the  much  aston 
ished,  much-encouraged,  young-old  minister, 
in  a  new  coat  which  was  an  Easter  gift 
from  the  young  men  of  his  congregation, 
read  the  hymn  — 

I  love  her  gates,  I  love  the  road  ; 

The  church   adorned  with  grace, 
Stands  like  a  palace  built  for  God, 

To  show  his  milder  face. 

But   I  know   that   he   read  it  as   that  people 
had    never    heard    him    read   a   hymn    before, 
with   an    unction    and    a     quiver    of    feeling 
which   said   almost   as   plainly   as   words : 
"  The   Lord  reigneth,    and   this   is  his   holy 


RECOGNITION.  367 

temple,  and  I  am  his  chosen  mouthpiece  to 
this  people :  I  had  almost  forgotten  it,  but 
it  is  so."  Then  when  that  reconstructed  choir 
rolled  out  the  words,  led  by  the  centre  voice 
of  exquisite  melody  and  power,  the  worship 
ers  felt  the  sentiment  of  the  hymn  fill  their 
hearts,  and  admitted  that  they  did  love  her 
gates,  and  that  they  must  rouse  up  and 
show  their  love  as  they  had  not  done  here 
tofore. 

Ah !  there  was  more  in  that  church  that 
day  than  new  carpet,  and  new  furniture,  and 
paint,  and  paper,  and  light  and  beauty. 
These  were  all  well  enough,  and  Claire 
Benedict's  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  re 
joiced  in  them  all.  But  what  were  they  to 
the  thrill  in  her  heart  as  she  heard  the 
minister  read  among-  the  names  announced 
for  reception  into  the  visible  communion  of 
the  church,  that  of  Hubbard  Myers.  There 
were  some  who  did  not  know  to  whom  the 
name  belonged ;  and  it  was  not  surprising, 
for  Hubbard  Myers  had  been  called  only 
Bud  for  so  many  years,  the  wonder  was 
that  he  remembered  his  name  himself. 


368  INTERRUPTED. 

There  had  been  great  astonishment  among 
some,  and  not  a  little  shaking  of  heads, 
when  Bud  presented  himself  as  a  candidate 
for  church-membership.  It  had  not  been 
supposed  that  he  had  intellect  enough  to 
understand  the  meaning  of  the  step.  There 
was  close  questioning  on  the  part  of  the 
minister,  not  for  himself  alone,  but  for  the 
enlightenment  of  others ;  but  before  the  ex 
amination  closed,  more  than  one  of  the  lis 
teners  drew  out  their  red  handkerchiefs, 
and  blew  their  noses  suspiciously,  and  at  last, 
one  of  the  most  stolid  of  them  remarked  : 

"  It  is  my  opinion,  brethren,  that  the  boy 
has  been  taught  of  God,  and  I  think  we 
would  do  well  to  accept  him  without  any 
further  delay."  And  they  did. 

There  were  other  trophies.  Where  would 
be  the  church  of  Christ  without  its  living, 
working  members  ?  One  who  was  pledged  to 
prefer  Jerusalem  above  her  chief  joy,  had 
not  been,  and  in  the  very  nature  of  the 
case,  could  not  have  been,  content  with  toil 
ing  simply  for  the  outward  adorning  of 
the  temple. 


RECOGNITION.  369 

A  history  of  the  quiet  work  which  had 
been  done  in  hearts  during  that  one  winter 
would  fill  a  volume.  I  have  but  given  you 
a  hint  of  it  here  and  there.  The  head  of 
the  Church  has  the  complete  record.  There 
is  perhaps  little  need  that  I  should  try  to 
give  you  even  scattered  notes  of  it.  Yet 
there  was  one  name  which  made  the  tears 
come  very  near  to  falling,  as  Claire  listened 
for  it,  fearful  that  it  might  not  come,  and 
at  the  same  moment  hopeful  for  it.  It  was 
only  a  transferral  from  a  church  in  the  city 
to  membership  with  the  one  at  South  Plains, 
and  it  was  only  Alice  Ansted.  Her  parents 
were  not  even  present  in  the  church.  But 
Claire  knew  that  a  visible  union  with  the 
church  of  Christ  meant  to  Alice  Ansted 
to-day  what  it  never  had  before.  And  she 
knew  that  the  two  girls,  Fanny  and  Ella 
Ansted,  who  sat  and  cried,  in  the  pew  be 
side  Alice,  were  only  left  out  because  pa 
rental  authority  had  asserted  itself,  and  said 
they  were  not  to  come.  Claire  knew  that 
they  had  united  themselves  with  the  great 
Head,  and  were  members  of  the  church 


37O  INTERRUPTED. 

in  the  "  Jerusalem  which  is  above  and  is 
free."  They  could  afford  to  bide  their  time. 

And  there  was  another  still  which  gave 
Claire's  heart  a  peculiar  thrill  of  joy.  Not 
that  his  name  was  raad,  or  that  many,  as 
yet,  knew  about  Satan's  defeat  with  him. 
It  had  been  recent,  and  the  public  recogni 
tion  of  the  fact  was  yet  to  come.  But  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  knew,  for  he  had  been 
the  victor. 

It  was  only  the  night  before,  as  they 
were  about  to  leave  the  reconstructed  church, 
and  Mary  Burton,  with  a  long-drawn  breath 
of  repressed  excitement,  had  declared  that 
everything  was  ready  for  to-morrow,  and 
that  the  victory  was  complete,  that  Harry 
Matthews  had  bent  toward  Claire  and  mur 
mured  : 

"  Miss  Benedict,  there  has  been  another 
victory.  You  will  know  that  it  is  far  more 
wonderful  than  this.  He  has  'undertaken ' 
for  me." 

There  had  only  been  time  to  grasp  his 
hand  and  flash  back  an  answer  from  sym 
pathetic  eyes,  but  there  was  a  song  in  her 


RECOGNITION.  3/1 

heart  this  morning  over  the  news.  Occa 
sionally  she  glanced  at  Harry,  and  told 
herself  that  she  would  have  known,  just  to 
look  at  him,  that  the  highest  experience 
this  life  has  for  us  had  coine  to  him. 

The  little  church  was  unusually  full  on 
this  triumphant  morning,  and  yet  most  of 
the  faces  were  known  to  Claire.  Strangers 
were  not  frequent  at  South  Plains.  Yet 
there  was  one,  a  gentleman,  who  gave  that 
reverent  heed  to  the  service  which  even 
among  strangers  distinguishes  those  who 
really  join  in  worship  from  those  who 
merely  look  on.  This  man  joined,  and  with 
his  heart.  Claire  was  sure  of  it.  It  was 
this  man  that  Harry  Matthews  watched,  a 
satisfied  smile  on  his  face  the  while.  Harry 
could  imagine  just  how  surprised  the  stranger 
was. 

On  the  evening  before,  when  he  had 
reached  his  room,  after  giving  his  wonder 
ful  news  to  Claire,  instead  of  finding  it  in 
darkness,  his  kerosene  lamp  had  been  turned 
to  its  highest  capacity,  and  a  gentleman 
sat  in  front  of  his  little  stove,  feeding 


3/2  INTERRUPTED. 

it  from  time  to  time,  apparently  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  brightening  the  somewhat 
dismal  room. 

"Halloo!"   had    been    Harry's  greeting. 

"  Just  so,"  was  the  quiet  response.  "  You 
did  not  know  you  had  company,  did  you, 
my  boy?" 

And  then  there  had  been  such  eager 
grasping  of  hands,  and  such  lighting  up  of 
faces,  as  evinced  the  satisfaction  of  both 
parties  at  meeting.  For  this  was  Harry 
Matthews'  favorite  uncle,  and  he  must 
lately  have  come  from  the  home  where 
Harry's  mother  waited  for  him. 

Of  course  there  was  a  high-tide  of  ques 
tion  and  answer  at  once.  It  was  not  until 
an  hour  afterward  that  Harry  reached  the 
subject  of  which  he  had  instantly  thought, 
on  seeing  his  uncle. 

"  Uncle  Harold,  didn't  you  know  the 
Benedicts?  " 

"What    Benedicts?" 

"  Why,  the  Boston  ones.  Sydney  L.  He 
failed,  and  died,  less  than  a  year  ago ;  don't 
you  remember?" 


RECOGNITION.  3/3 

"  I  remember.  I  knew  him  well.  I  met 
him  abroad." 

"And   didn't   you   know  his   daughter?" 

"  I  knew  that  he  had  a  daughter,  and,  in 
fact,  I  think  I  saw  her  once ;  but  we  were 
not  acquainted." 

"Why,    I    wonder?' 

"Why?"  with  a  slightly-curious  laugh. 
"There  might  be  many  reasons,  I  am  sure. 
Boston  spreads  over  a  good  deal  of  ground. 
Besides,  you  know  I  never  spent  a  great 
deal  of  time  in  Boston,  and  I  am  not  a 
society  man.  Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  No  reason  in  particular ;  only  the  lady 
is  here,  and  I  thought  if  you  were  old  ac 
quaintances,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  meet 
her." 

"  Here  in  South  Plains !  What  in  the 
world  is  she  doing  here  ? " 

"  Teaching   music." 

"  I  wonder  if  this  is  where  she  has  hid 
den  herself !  I  occasionally  hear  queries  as 
to  what  has  become  of  her,  but  I  believe 
I  never  met  a  person  who  knew.  No,  I 
don't  suppose  there  would  be  any  mutual 


374  INTERRUPTED. 

pleasure  in  a  meeting.  I  may  be  said  to 
be  a  stranger.  I  have  not  the  least  idea 
how  she  looks ;  and  I  may  never  have  met 
her,  though  I  think  I  did  somewhere.  I 
remember  having  a  passing  interest  in  see 
ing  how  a  daughter  of  Sydney  Benedict 
would  look.  He  was  a  grand  man,  but  I 
suspected  that  his  daughter  was  a  butterfly 
of  fashion.  She  lived  in  the  very  centre  of 
that  sort  of  thing,  and  her  father  was  sup 
posed  to  have  immense  wealth.  I  suppose 
she  is  a  poor,  crushed  little  morsel,  done 
\ip  in  crape  and  disappointment.  I  am  al 
ways  sorry  for  music-scholars  who  have  to 
take  broken-down  ladies  for  teachers.  Still, 
I  don't  know  but  I  would  like  to  shake 
hands  with  her  for  her  father's  sake.  Have 
you  met  her  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  I  had  !  but  I  don't  believe 
you  ever  have.  You  couldn't  draw  such  a 
queer  picture  of  her  as  that,  if  you  had 
ever  seen  her.  She  doesn't  wear  crape  at 
all.  Somebody  told  me  she  did  not  believe 
in  mourning  for  people  who  had  gone  to 
heaven ;  at  least,  not  in  putting  on  black 


RECOGNITION.  375 

clothes  and  looking  doleful,  you  know.  And 
as  to  being  crushed!  why,  uncle  Harold, 
she  is  the  brightest,  sweetest,  grandest  girl 
I  ever  heard  of  in  all  my  life." 

"  Possible ! "  said  his  uncle,  with  a  good- 
humored  laugh.  "  Why,  my  boy,  she  must 
be  several  years  older  than  you!  What 
does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  "  was  the  impatient  reply 
of  the  excited  young  man.  "  It  is  just  as 
evident  as  can  be,  that  you  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  about.  If  you  had 
been  here  this  winter,  and  watched  things 
work,  and  known  the  hand  that  she  had 
in  it  all,  why — look  here!  you  wait  until 
to-morrow ;  I  can  show  you  a  few  things,  I 
fancy." 

Whereupon  he  immediately  closed  his  lips ; 
and  although  his  uncle  pretended  to  be  ex 
tremely  curious,  and  to  be  unable  to  wait 
until  morning  for  light,  no  hints  or  ques 
tions  could  draw  out  further  information  in 
the  same  direction: 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

DANGERS    SEEN    AND    UNSEEN. 

IT  was  this  man,  then,  to  whom  Harry 
Matthews'  eyes  often  wandered  during 
that  morning  service.  The  look  of  pro 
found  amazement  which  had  settled  on  his 
uncle's  face  after  the  first  sweeping  glance 
which  he  gave  the  little  church,  had  caused 
Harry  the  keenest  satisfaction.  The  more 
so  that  during  the  morning  he  had  been 
addressed  after  this  fashion : 

"  The  only  regret  I  had,  when  I  found 
that  I  could  drop  off  at  South  Plains  and 
spend  a  day  or  two,  was  that  it  was  Satur 
day,  and  the  Sabbath  would  have  to  be 
spent  in  that  forlorn  little  box  where  you 
go  to  church.  I  have  vivid  recollections  of 
the  day  I  spent  with  you  a  year  ago.  Harry, 

my   boy,   I   don't   like   to   think  of  your  Sab- 
376 


DANGERS    SEEN    AND    UNSEEN.  277 

baths  being  passed  amid  such  unpleasant 
surroundings.  I  shall  be  glad  when  your 
engagement  here  closes.  You  don't  think  of 
renewing  it,  I  hope  ?  I  have  plans  which  I 
want  to  talk  over  with  you  to-morrow  ? " 

But  Harry  had  been  too  full  of  the  sur 
prise  in  store,  to  make  any  reply  to  these 
questionings,  other  than  to  say : 

"  Come  on,  uncle  Harold ;  I  sing  in  the 
choir,  and  I  promised  to  be  there  in  good 
time." 

None  the  less  was  he  watching  for  that 
first  look,  and  it  satisfied  him.  He  wanted 
to  laugh  outright,  but  of  course  he  did  no 
such  thing;  instead,  he  seated  his  amazed 
relative  in  one  of  the  best  pews,  then  took 
his  place  in  the  choir,  all  of  his  face  save 
his  eyes  in  decorous  repose. 

All  the  bright  Sabbath  afternoon  they  sat 
together,  uncle  and  nephew;  the  one  ar 
eager  narrator,  the  other  an  attentive  list 
ener.  Every  step  of  the  colossal  plan,  as 
it  appeared  to  others,  and  was  matured  and 
carried  out  by  the  unfaltering  zeal  of  Claire 
Benedict,  was  detailed  for  the  uncle's  ben- 


INTERRUPTED. 

efit.  And  certainly  Claire's  reputation  did 
not  suffer  in  the  young  man's  hands.  He 
could  not  help  glorifying  her.  None  knew 
better  than  he,  what  she  had  been  to  him ; 
but  of  this  more  sacred  story  he  as  yet 
said  nothing.  Its  time  was  to  come. 

"  Wiry,  uncle  Harold,  you  remember  Bud," 
he  burst  forth  afresh  after  a  moment's  si 
lence,  "  that  queer  fellow  who  worked  for 
the  Ansteds  ;  he  came  down  here  that  night 
you  spent  here  last  spring,  with  papers,  you 
know,  for  Mr.  Ansted,  and  you  talked  with 
him  a  little,  and  laughed  so  over  his  queer 
notions.  Remember? 

"  W«ll,  sir,  that  fellow  is  simply  made 
over!  It  is  a  great  deal  more  wonderful 
than  the  church !  We  used  to  think  he 
was  not  more  than  half-witted.  I'll  tell  you 
what  it  is :  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  turned 
out  that  he  was  double-witted.  You  didn't 
recognize  his  name  to-day,  of  course ;  it  is 
a  wonder  that  he  did  himself.  Hubbard 
Myers,  that's  the  boy.  Yes,  sir,  he  has 
joined  the  church ;  and  a  help  he  will  be 
to  it,  too.  Uncle  Harold,  you  ought  to  hear 


DANGERS  SEEN  AND  UNSEEN.      3/9 

him  pray !  He  says  queer  things  even  in 
prayer ;  at  least,  they  sound  queer ;  but  in 
spite  of  yourself  you  can  not  help  wonder 
ing  sometimes  whether  it  is  not  because  he 
has  gotten  ahead  of  all  the  rest,  and  sees 
things  that  they  don't  understand.  I  be- 
iieve  he  thinks  Miss  Benedict  is  an  angel 
sent  here  from  heaven  to  help  him.  That's 
no  wonder,  though;  perhaps  she  is;  any 
how,  she  has  helped  him  as  well,  and  per 
haps  better  than  a  real  angel  could  have 
done ,-  and  she  is  the  first  one  who  ever 
took  any  notice  of  him,  or  remembered  that 
he  had  a  soul." 

It  is  no  special  wonder  that  the  uncle 
was  deeply  interested  in  this  story.  It  told 
more  than  Harry  suspected.  How  came  this 
gay  young  nephew,  who  had  cost  him  many 
sleepless  nights,  to  be  sufficiently  familiar 
with  a  prayer-meeting  to  know  who  prayed, 
or  how?  He  studied  the  bright  face  before 
him  most  attentively.  It  was  changed,  cer 
tainly  i  he  had  felt  the  change  in  the  boy 
all  day.  What  was  it?  How  much  did  it 
mean  ?  There  had  certainly  been  need  for 


380  INTERRUPTED. 

change.  It  made  his  heart  beat  fast  to  think 
of  Harry's  mother,  and  the  possibility  of 
news  for  her  such  as  would  make  her  feel 
young  again. 

"  Harry,"  he  said  gently,  "  do  you  know, 
I  half  hope  that  I  have  not  heard  the  best 
yet  of  this  wonderful  story ;  that  there  has 
been  another  '  making  over.'  How  is  it,  my 
boy?" 

A  bright  flush  mantled  Harry's  face  as 
he  bent  his  eyes  closer  over  the  paper  on 
which  he  was  scribbling  his  own  and  his 
uncle's  names  with  all  sorts  of  flourishes. 

Suddenly  he  raised  his  head,  and  looked 
full  into  the  kind  eyes  bent  wistfully  on 
him,  and  smiled  r 

"I  don't  know  why  I  should  hesitate  to 
tell  you  that,  I  am  sure,"  he  said,  speaking 
in  a  firm,  manly  tone..  "  It  is  true  enough. 
I  have  been  made  over,  I  believe.  Certainly 
nobody  ever  needed  it  more,  and  nobody 
ever  struggled  harder  against  it,  as  you 
very  well  know.  At  least,  you  know  part ; 
but  I  have  been  lower  down  than  you  think, 
uncle  Harold.  Talk  about  angels !  I  know 


DANGERS    SEEN   AND    UNSEEN.  381 

that  I  don't  see  how  any  angel  can  ever  do 
more  for  me  than  Miss  Benedict  has  done!  I've 
engaged  for  life  as  a  servant  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  And  I  owe  more  to  Miss 
Benedict,  this  minute,  than  I  do  to  any 
human  being,  not  excepting  even  you  and 
my  mother." 

The  uncle  was  out  of  his  chair  by  this 
time,  one  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  his  dear 
boy,  while  he  held  out  the  other,  which 
was  promptly  grasped ;  but  he  could  not 
speak  yet,  and  he  could  not  see  for  the 
tears.  This  young  fellow  was  very  dear  to 
him,  and  the  waiting  had  been  long. 

"  God  bless  you ! "  he  said  at  last,  his 
lips  quivering,  and  unable  to  utter  another 
word. 

When   he   could   speak  again   he  said : 

"  My  dear  boy,  have  you  told  your 
mother  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Harry,  his  eyes  shining, 
"  but  you  can  be  sure  that  I  am  going  to. 
You  see,  Uncle  Harold,  the  articles  of  sur 
render  were  only  signed,  sealed  and  deliv 
ered,  night  before  last  in  the  middle  of  the 


382  INTERRUPTED. 

night.  Since  then  I  have  not  had  a  mo 
ment's  time  that  belonged  to  me ;  but  I'll 
write  her  such  a  letter  as  she  has  never  had 
from  me. " 

While  the  uncle  walked  the  parlor  of  the 
boarding-house,  and  waited  for.  his  nephew 
to  make  ready  for  evening  service,  he  had 
some  questions  to  settle  which  were  per 
sonal.  He  became  aware  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  certainly  jumped  to  conclusions  re 
garding  some  of  the  workers  in  the  Mas 
ter's  vineyard  which  were  apparently  with 
out  foundation.  Here  was  this  Miss  Bene 
dict.  He  had  heard  her  name  mentioned 
frequently  in  the  days  gone  by,  and  always 
as  one  of  the  dependences  of  the  church 
to  which  she  belonged ;  and  yet  he  had 
always  thought  of  her  with  curling  lip. 
"  Workers ! "  he  had  told  himself,  being 
mentally  very  sarcastic,  "  yes,  didn't  all  the 
initiated  know  what  that  meant  when  applied  to 
a  fashionable  young  lady  who  lived  in  an 
elegant  home  and  mingled  with  the  fashion 
able  world  ?  It  meant  that  she  helped  at 
the  fancy  fairs,  and  festivals,  and  bazaars, 


DANGERS  SEEN  AND  UNSEEN.      383 

and  what  not?  Worked  them  up,  probably, 
with  all  their  accompanying  train  of  evils. 
It  meant  that  she  was  a  district  visitor,  per 
haps,  and  left  a  tract  on  '  Redeeming  the 
Time '  in  a  home  where  they  were  starving 
for  lack  of  employment,  and  needed  a  loaf 
of  bread."  He  had  seen  workers  of  that 
sort,  arid  he  found  it  difficult  to  feel  for 
them  anything  but  contempt.  The  thing  for 
which  he  was  now  to  take  himself  to  task 
was  the  fact  that  he  had  classed  Claire 
Benedict  among  these,  knowing  nothing  of 
her,  meantime,  save  that  she  was  a  member 
of  a  fashionable  up-town  church ;  and  that, 
too,  after  knowing  her  father,  and  singling 
him  out  as  a  man  among  thousands.  The 
simple  truth  was,  that  he  had  imagined  a 
character  of  which  he  disapproved,  and  named 
it  Cluire  Benedict,  and  then  let  himself  dis 
approve  of  her  heartily. 

"  The  sole  thing  that  I  know  about  the 
young  woman  is  that  she  was  once  wealthy, 
and  on  this  account  I  have  judged  her  as  I 
have ;  and  I  find  that  it  is  what  I  am  apt 
to  do."  This  is  what  he  told  himself  as 


384  INTERRUPTED. 

he  walked  the  length  of  that  little  parlor, 
and  waited.  He  was  much  ashamed  of  him 
self.  "It  is  an  excellent  standpoint  from 
which  to  judge  character,"  he  said,  severely. 
"  If  there  is  any  justice  in  it  I  must  be  a 
worthless  person  myself.  I  wonder  how  many 
people  are  setting  me  down  as  one  who 
merely  plays  at  Christian  work,  because  my 
father  left  me  one  fortune  and  my  old  aunt 
another ! " 

I  am  glad  that  this  man  had  this  se 
vere  talk  with  himself.  He  needed  it.  The 
truth  is,  he  was  very  apt  to  judge  of  peo 
ple  in  masses ;  as  though  they  were  speci 
mens,  and  belonged  to  certain  types. 

The  conclusion  of  his  self-examination  at 
this  time  was,  that  he  declared  that  if  one 
third  of  what  Harry  thought  about  this 
young  person  was  true,  it  had  taught  him 
a  lesson.  He  went  to  church  that  evening 
apparently  for  the  purpose  of  studying  the 
lesson  more  thoroughly ;  at  least,  he  gave 
some  attention  to  the  organist.  He  had 
recognized  her  in  the  morning,  because  she 
had  eyes  like  her  father;  and  this  evening 


DANGERS  SEEN  AND  UNSEEN.      385 

he  decided  that  her  head  was  shaped  like 
his,  and  that  she  had  the  firm  mouth  and 
yet  sweet  set  of  lips  that  had  character 
ized  the  father,  and  he  told  himself  that 
he  might  have  known  that  the  daughter 
of  such  a  man  would  be  an  unusual  woman. 

After  service  was  concluded,  he  walked 
deliberately  forward  and  claimed  acquaintance 
with  Sydney  Benedict's  daughter.  The  glow 
that  he  brought  to  her  face,  and  the  tender 
light  which  shone  in  her  eyes,  when  he 
mentioned  that  dear  father's  name,  gave  him 
a  glimpse  of  what  the  daughter's  memories 
were. 

Harry  came  up  to  them  eagerly,  having 
been  detained  by  the  pastor  for  a  moment. 

"You  have  introduced  yourself,  Uncle 
Harold,  I  see.  Miss  Benedict,  I  wanted  my 
Uncle  Harold  to  know  you  for  very  special 
reasons." 

Uncle  Harold  was  unaccountably  embar 
rassed.  What  a  strange  thing  for  that  boy 
to  say !  and  what  did  he  propose  to  say 
next?  But  Claire  relieved  the  embarrassment, 
and  plunged  him  into  a  maze  of  questioning, 


386  INTERRUPTED. 

by  the  sudden,  eager  interest  which  flashed 
in  her  face  with  the  mention  of  his  name. 

"Are  you  Harold  Chessney?"  she  asked 
as  though  a  new  thought  came  to  her  with 
the  union  of  the  two  names.  "  and  are  you 
going  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  ? " 

"  I  am  Harold  Chessney,"  he  said,  smil 
ing,  "and  I  have  in  mind  a  trip  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  if  I  can  make  my  plans 
in  that  direction  what  I  wish.  But  why 
this  should  be  of  interest  to  you  passes  my 
comprehension."  Of  course  this  last  he  thought. 

She   did   not  leave    him   long   in  doubt. 

"Is    Louis    Ansted   going   with   you?" 

"  He  is  if  I  can  prevail  upon  him  to  do 
so.  That  is  part  of  my  errand  here  at  this 
time,  and  has  to  do  with  the  plans  I  men 
tioned."  And  now  his  face  plainly  asked 
the  question:  "Why  do  you  care?" 

She    seemed    to  answer   the   look. 

"  He  needs  to  go,  Mr.  Chessney.  He  needs 
help ;  such  help  as  perhaps  you  can  give 
him.  I  don't  know.  Something  must  be 
done  for  him,  and  that  soon.  Mr.  Chessney, 
I  hope  you  will  succeed." 


DANGERS    SEEN    AND    UNSEEN.  387 

There  was  no  time  for  more.  Alice  An- 
sted  came  up,  and  claimed  the  stranger  as 
an  acquaintance,  and  stood  talking  with 
him  for  a  moment-  and  expressed  extreme 
anxiety  that  he  should  find  her  brother  in 
the  city  the  next  day. 

"  He  is  somewhere  in  town,  but  we  never 
know  where.  Still,  I  could  give  you  a 
dozen  addresses,  at  any  one  of  which  you 
might  find  him.  I  hope  you  will  not  return 
without  seeing  him." 

"  I  shall  not,"  Mr.  Chessney  said,  de 
cidedly.  "Is  he  inclined  to  accompany  me, 
do  you  think  ?  Has  he  mentioned  to  you 
my  designs?" 

"Yes,  and  would  go  if  it  were  not  for  — 
Mr.  Chessney,  if  you  could  make  mamma 
understand.  No  one  seems  able  to.  Claire 
Benedict  has  tried  and  failed;  and  what  she 
fails  in,  perhaps  can  not  be  done.  I  don't 
know,  but  something  must  be  done,  and 
that  speedily." 

Almost  Claire  Benedict's  words  repeated. 
The  newcomer  walked  home  in  almost  si 
lence.  As  they  neared  Harry's  door,  he  said  : 


388  INTERRUPTED. 

"What  is  young  Ansted  about  just    now?" 

"  Drinking  hard,  sir ;  he  is  running  down 
hill  very  fast.  If  you  don't  get  him  away 
with  you,  I  am  afraid  he  will  go  to  the 
dogs  in  a  hurry " 

"  Is  he  still  on  terms  of  special  intimacy 
with  the  VanMarters?" 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  I  do  not  know.  Things 
look  mixed.  He  rails  against  Willis  Van- 
Marter  once  in  a  while,  when  he  has  been 
taking  enough  to  make  him  imprudent,  and 
Miss  Alice  seems  to  have  broken  with  them 
altogether;  at  least,  Willis  does  not  come 
out  any  more,  I  think,  and  Miss  Alice  is  not 
in  town  often ;  but  Mrs.  Ansted  seems  to 
be  as  intimate  with  them  as  ever,  and  Louis 
goes  there  with  his  mother.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  it,  but  it  looks  like  a  house 
divided  against  itself.  If  I  had  such  a 
mother  as  Louis  Ansted  has,  I  don't  believe 
I  would  try  to  be  anybody." 

"  Mothers  don't  seem  to  count  for  much 
sometimes,  my  boy." 

"You  mean  with  their  sons,  and  I  dare 
say  you  mean  me,  Uncle  Harold;  but  it  is 


DANGERS  SEEN  AND  UNSEEN.      389 

not  true.  My  mother  always  counted  for 
ten  times  more  than  you  think.  It  was 
she  who  held  me  back.  If  Louis  Ansted 
had  a  tenth  part  of  the  craving  for  liquor 
that  I  have,  with  his  mother  to  push  him, 
he  would  have  been  gone  long  ago,  beyond 
reach.  I  don't  know  but  he  is  now.  He 
has  been  going  down  very  fast  in  the  last 
few  weeks." 

"  What  is  the  accelerating  cause  ?  " 
"That  I  don't  positively  know.  Partly,  it 
is  the  natural  result  of  a  bad  habit  in 
dulged,  I  suppose ;  but  there  are  other  in 
fluences  at  which  I  can  guess.  Still,  it  is 
pure  guesswork.  I  am  not  in  any  one's 
confidence,  except  when  Louis  has  been 
drinking  too  much,  he  says  to  me  things 
that  he  would  not  want  me  to  know  if  he 
were  sober,  and  those,  of  course,  I  don't 
repeat.  I  think  that  his  mother  is  bent  on 
this  union  of  the  two  houses,  VanMarter's 
and  theirs,  and  I  think  neither  Louis  nor 
Miss  Alice  are  of  her  mind  in  the  matter; 
and  I  think,  moreover,  that  Louis  would 
rather  have  an  hour  of  Miss  Benedict's  so- 


ciety  than  a  lifetime  of  Miss  Eva  VanMar- 
ter's,  and  I  don't  think  he  can  get  what  he 
wants.  Now,  isn't  that  an  interesting  little 
romance  for  a  young  fellow  like  me  to 
think  out,  especially  when  I  don't  know  a 
thing  about  it?  The  only  fact  is  that  Louis 
Ansted  is  in  great  danger,  and  nobody  seems 
to  have  much  influence  over  him — at  least, 
nobody  who  uses  it  in  the  right  direction." 

"  His  sister  seems  to  be  roused.  I  was 
surprised  to  hear  her  speak  as  she  did." 

"  His  sister  is  not  the  woman  she  was 
when  you  saw  her  last.  She  has  been  un 
der  Miss  Benedict's  influence  all  winter." 

"  Evidently  you  incline  to  the  belief  that 
Miss  Benedict  is  a  remarkable  woman," 
his  uncle  said,  with  a  slight  laugh.  "  Why 
has  she  not  been  exerting  her  influence  to 
help  poor  Louis?" 

"  She  has  tried  as  hard  as  a  woman  can. 
But,  Uncle  Harold,  she  is  not  the  sort  of 
woman  to  promise  to  marry  a  man  merely 
to  save  him  from  becoming  a  drunkard." 

"  I  should  hope  not,"  Mr.  Chessney  an 
swered  promptly. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AN  ESCAPED   VICTIM. 

IN    the    quiet    of    Harry's    own    room,    his 
uncle    having    spent    fifteen    minutes    in 
silent    and     apparently   puzzled    thought,    sud 
denly   asked    a    question : 

"  When   did    Louis  go   into  town  ? " 
"  Several    days     ago.      He    has    a    way    of 
disappearing   suddenly,    not  giving   the    family 
an   idea   of    where   he    is    going   or   when    he 
expects    to    return,    and    when    he    does    get 
back   he   shows  to    any  one  who  is   not  blind, 
that   he   has   been   pretty   low   down." 
"  They   expect  him  back   to-morrow  ?  " 
"  Why,    as    to    that,  they  have  been  expect 
ing   him    ever   since   he    went   away.     I    heard 
Miss   Alice    say   that   he    went   unexpectedly, 
leaving    word     that    he    should    probably    be 
back    to   dinner." 


392  INTERRUPTED. 

"  Harry,  my  boy,  I  am  almost  inclined  to 
think  that  I  ought  to  start  out  to-night,  and 
try  to  look  him  up." 

"To-night!  Why,  Uncle  Harold,  how 
could  you?  It  would  be  midnight  and  after 
before  you  could  reach  the  city,  and  then 
where  would  you  go  ?  The  addresses  that 
Miss  Alice  can  give  you  must  be  respecta 
ble  places,  with  closed  doors  to-night." 

"  That  is  true,"  Mr.  Chessney  answered, 
after  a  thoughtful  pause;  "it  would  be  a 
wild  kind  of  proceeding,  apparently,  with 
very  little  excuse ;  and  yet  I  am  someway 
impressed  that  it  is  the  thing  to  do." 

Alas  for  the  Christian  world  which  be 
lieves  in  theory,  that  there  is  a  direct  link 
between  the  seen  and  the  unseen,  by  which  the 
earnest  soul  can  be  told  in  what  way  to 
walk,  and,  in  practice,  thinks  it  must  search 
out  its  own  way !  Mr.  Chessney  did  not  go 
out  in  search  of  his  friend.  He  did  not 
even  ask  his  Master  whether  it  was  his  will 
that  the  apparently  "  wild  proceeding "  should 
be  attempted.  He  prayed,  it  is  true ;  and 
lie  prayed  for  Louis  Ansted,  but  only  in  a 


AN    ESCAPED    VICTIM.  393 

general  way ;  and  he  retired  to  rest,  saying 
within  himself  that  directly  after  breakfast 
he  would  go  into  town  and  see  what  he 
could  do. 

Before  he  was  awake  the  next  morning, 
the  piazza  of  the  little  country  hotel,  where 
he  stopped,  was  filled  with  loungers  who 
had  something  unusual  and  exciting  to  talk 
about.  There  were  a  dozen  different  sto 
ries,  it  is  true ;  but  out  of  them  all  the  in 
terested  listener  could  glean  certain  things 
which  were  painfully  likely  to  be  facts. 
There  had  been  a  runaway  —  to  that  all 
parties  agreed  ;  and  Louis  Ansted  had  been 
in  the  carriage,  and  had  been  thrown ;  but 
whether  he  was  killed,  or  onty  seriously 
hurt,  or  whether  the  horse  had  taken  fright 
at  the  approaching  train,  or  whether  the 
driver  had  attempted  to  cross  the  railroad- 
track  in  the  face  of  the  train,  or  whether 
there  had  been  any  train  at  all,  authorities 
differed.  It  was  still  early  when  Harry 
Matthews  knocked  at  his  uncle's  door  with 
the  confused  particles  of  story. 

"  And    yon    don't   know   whether   he   is  liv- 


394  INTERRUPTED. 

ing,  or  not  ? "  asked  the  startled  uncle  who 
was  now  making  his  toilet  with  all  possible 
speed. 

"  No,  I  can't  find  out.  Some  of  them  say 
he  was  killed  instantly,  and  others  have  it 
that  he  was  only  stunned,  and  has  revived. 
It  may  be  nothing  but  a  scare.  South 
Plains  has  so  little  excitement  that  it  is  apt 
to  make  as  much  as  it  can  out  of  every 
thing.  Uncle  Harold,  I  can't  go  up  there 
and  find  out,  for  my  train  will  be  due  in 
five  minutes,  and  I  must  be  at  the  telegraph 
office,  you  know.  " 

"  Yes ;  I  will  be  down  in  less  than  five 
minutes,  and  will  go  immediately  up  there. 
I  hope  it  is  chiefly  talk."  Yet  when  he  was 
left  alone,  he  said  aloud  and  mournfully : 
"  If  I  had  only  followed  my  impressions  last 
night !  " 

He  had  occasion  to  say  it,  or,  at  least,  to 
think  it  often,  in  the  days  which  followed. 
South  Plains  had  not  exaggerated,  this  time. 
Louis  Ansted  was  not  dead  —  at  least,  the 
heart  was  beating  ;  but  he  lay  a  bruised,  un 
conscious  heap  among  the  snowy  draperies 


AN    ESCAPED    VICTIM.  395 

of  his  bed  — his  soiled  and  matted  clothing, 
which  as  yet  they  had  not  dared  remove, 
telling  to  the  practiced  eye  a  story  of  more 
than  a  mere  runaway.  The  skillful  doctor, 
who  had  already  been  summoned  from  the 
city,  was  silent  as  well  as  skillful.  He  is 
sued  his  orders  in  as  few  words  as  possible, 
and  kept  his  own  counsel,  until,  left  alone 
with  Mr.  Chessney  for  a  moment,  in  answer 
to  the  question,  "What  does  this  stupor 
mean  ? "  he  shook  his  head. 

"  Hard  to  tell.  It  was  on  him  before 
the  accident,  if  that  gives  you  any  light." 

It  gave  him  bitter  light,  and  made  him 
groan  in  spirit  over  the  fact  that  he  had 
been  tempted  to  go  out  in  the  night  and 
hunt  for  his  friend,  and  had  not  gone. 

Later  in  the  day,  bits  of  the  facts  came 
to  him.  Louis  Ansted  had  been  alone ;  had 
hired  a  horse  at  the  livery  and  started  for 
home.  "  More  under  the  influence  of  liquor 
than  usual,  perhaps,"  the  reluctant  hostler 
at  the  livery  had  admitted,  "still,  I  thought 
he  would  get  through  all  right."  For  the 
rest,  the  silent  lips  on  the  bed  told  no 


39^  INTERRUPTED. 

tales.  He  had  been  found,  not  very  far 
from  the  railroad  crossing,  lying  under  a 
tree,  and  the  horse  had  made  his  way  back 
to  the  stables.  Whether  a  train  bad  fright 
ened  the  animal,  or  whether  being  left  to 
himself  while  the  driver  sank  into  a  drunken 
sleep  had  caused  his  alarm,  or  how  the  ac 
cident  had  occurred,  was  left  to  conjecture. 

His  mother  continually  repeated  the  story 
—  and  succeeded  in  making  herself  believe 
it  —  that  a  vicious  horse  had  been  given 
him,  who  evidently  became  unmanageable  at 
the  sound  of  the  locomotive ;  but  some  of 
the  listeners  went  out  and  said  that  there 
was  no  train  passing  between  the  hours  that 
the  horse  left  the  stables  and  returned 
there,  and  the  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  said  nothing. 

Then  followed  one  of  those  periods  of 
waiting  and  watching  which  some  people 
know  all  about ;  the  miseries  of  which  can 
only  be  understood  by  having  to  live  them. 
The  trip  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  was  indefi 
nitely  postponed,  and  Harold  Chessney,  hav 
ing  made  a  journey  to  the  city,  and  rear- 


AN    ESCAPED    VICTIM.  397 

ranged  his  business,  returned  to  take  his 
place  among  the  watchers. 

He  was  fully  roused  now ;  so  were  all 
the  friends  of  the  sufferer ;  his  body  was 
in  danger.  It  was  not  at  all  difficult  to 
make  his  mother  understand  this,  and  no 
means  were  left  untried  by  which  the  frail 
shell  might  possibly  be  rescued  from  im 
pending  ruin. 

In  this  way  passed  weeks,  while  the  soul 
of  the  injured  man  hovered  on  the  edge  of 
another  world.  Gradually  the  excitement  in 
the  village  calmed  down,  and  everywhere 
outside  of  that  house  on  the  hill  every-day 
life  went  on  again.  Mr.  Chessney  came  and 
went,  keeping  a  hand  on  his  business  inter 
ests  where  he  must,  but  keeping  the  most 
of  his  thoughts  and  the  most  of  his  time 
waiting,  in  the  hope  that  consciousness  would 
return  once  more  to  the  wreck  on  the  bed. 
There  was  one  other  who  watched  and 
waited,  too,  though  she  could  not  now  go 
to  the  house  to  inquire.  She  could  pray ; 
and  this  she  did.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to 
her  that  every  thought  was  a  prayer  for 


398  INTERRUPTED. 

that  periled  soul.  And  often  and  often  she, 
too,  had  to  think  : 

"  What  if  I  had  been  more  anxious,  and 
earnest,  and  constant,  while  the  body  was 
comparatively  in  health  —  might  not  things 
possibly  have  been  different  ? " 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and 
Mr.  Chessney  sat  alone  with  the  sick  man. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait,  and  he 
had  prevailed  upon  other  weary  watchers  to 
rest,  and  let  him  take  his  turn.  So  there 
was  only  himself  to  be  startled  by  a  low 
voice  from  one  who  had  been  for  so  many 
weeks  speechless  :  "  Harold,  is  it  you  ?  " 

Great  was  the  rejoicing  in  the  troubled 
home  the  next  morning.  Louis  was  awake 
and  conscious,  knew  them  all,  smiled  feebly 
on  his  mother,  and  watched  hungrily  every 
movement  of  Mr.  Chessney. 

The  worst  was  over ;  he  would  gain  rap 
idly  now.  So  the  mother  said,  with  eager 
voice  and  joyful  eyes.  Alice  looked  up 
qnestioningly  when  Mr.  Cliessney  remained 
silent  and  grave,  and  as  soon  as  opportu 
nity  came,  asked  her  anxious  question ; 


AN    ESCAPED    VICTIM. 

"Mr.  Chessney,  I  can  see  that  you  do  not 
share  mamma's  joy.  Do  you  think  the  in 
dications  unfavorable  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Miss  Ansted.  I  am  not 
a  physician,  only  a  nurse,  and  I  hope  I 
may  be  mistaken ;  but  it  is  true  that  I  am 
anxious." 

And  the  doctor,  when  he  came,  expressed 
no  surprise  and  no  pleasure  over  the  change. 

"But  then  he  is  so  utterly  unimpressible ! " 
said  the  mother,  "  one  might  almost  as  well 
have  a  marble  statue  for  a  physician." 

Yet  the  statue  worked  faithfully  and  tire 
lessly,  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  hopelessly. 
To  Mr.  Chessney  he  would  talk  occasion 
ally  ;  and  there  came  a  day  when  that 
gentleman  followed  him  out  .to  the  lawn. 

"  Doctor,    what    do    you   think  ? "     . 

"  That   it   is   a    charming  morning." 

"  Doctor,    is  our    patient   gaining  ?  " 

«  No." 

"Is   there   hope   that   he    will   in   time?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  have  no  hope  of 
his  recovery  ?  " 


4OO  INTERRUPTED. 

"  None  at  all ;  have  not  had  from  the 
first.  Brains  like  his  never  recover  from 
such  treatment  as  they  have  received." 

"  But,  doctor,  this  is  very  sudden.  Do 
you  mean  he  will  lie  there  helpless  for  the 
rest  of  his  life?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  will  lie  there  three 
weeks  longer,  but  he  may ;  we  are  not  in 
fallible.  I  shall  have  to  hasten  this  morn 
ing.  Young  Marshall  came  home  in  a 
drunken  rage  last  night,  and  kicked  his 
wife,  and  she  is  going  to  die,  I  think.  I 
don't  know  what  we  doctors  would  do  if 
this  were  not  a  free  country,  and  liquor- 
sellers  had  not  a  right  to  kill  by  inches  all 
the  people  they  choose.  This  victim  over 
whom  you  are  watching  is  only  one  of 
many.  That  ought  to  comfort  the  friends, 
ought  it  not?  Good-morning." 

"  I  haven't  told  them,"  said  Mr.  Chessney, 
two  hours  later,  speaking  to  Claire.  He  hud 
come  out  to  get  a  breath  of  the  sweet 
morning  air,  and  to  give  Claire  the  news. 
During  the  weeks  past,  he  had  been  very 
thoughtful  of  her  anxiety,  and  very  careful 


AN   ESCAPED   VICTIM.  40! 

that  she  should  receive  daily  bulletins.  "  I 
have  not  told  them,  but  I  must.  Miss  Ben 
edict,  this  is  the  hardest  task  a  man  ever 
has  to  do.  How  can  I  tell  that  mother  that 
she  has  robbed  herself  of  her  son  ?  She 
has  steadily  thwarted  for  two  years  every 
scheme  that  I  devised  to  help  him  ;  and  she 
did  not  know  what  she  was  about,  either, 
poor  mother  ! " 

"  Did  you  ever  try  to  tell  her  ? " 
"  Yes,  and  failed,  as  you  did.  Alice  told 
me  of  your  effort.  But  I  ought  to  have 
tried  again.  I  knew  she  was  deceived.  She 
thought  me  a  fanatic,  and  I  could  have  told 
her  of  scenes  that  would  have  made  one  of 
her.  I  shrank  from  it." 

It  was  more  than  two  weeks  before  she 
saw  him  again.  During  this  time  she  twice 
received  little  twisted  slips  of  paper,  brought 
to  her  by  the  faithful  Bud,  and  on  them 
would  be  written  a  request  that  she  would 
pray  for  a  soul  in  peril.  One  long  letter, 
blistered  with  tears,  Alice  wrote  to  her; 
the  burden  of  it  being  the  same ;  and  this 
was  all  she  knew  of  what  was  passing  in 


4O2  INTERRUPTED. 

the  house  on  the  hill.  She  had  not  entered 
it  since  that  day  when  its  mistress  turned 
from  her.  Not  that  she  would  not  quickly 
have  done  so,  had  occasion  arisen,  but  there 
seemed  no  need  to  force  herself  on  the 
poor  mother. 

"  I  shall  never  see  him  again,"  she  told 
herself,  sorrowfully,  "and  I  have  seen  him 
so  many  times  when  I  might  have  tried  to 
help  him,  and  did  not ! " 

Then  there  came  one  brief,  never-to-be- 
forgotten  note,  written  hurriedly  by  Mr. 
Chessney : 

"I  believe  that  Louis  rests  in  the  Everlast 
ing  Arms." 

One  Saturday  morning  she  was  summoned 
to  the  parlor  to  see  Mr.  Chessney.  He 
came  forward  quickly,  with  an  anxious  air, 
as  of  one  having  a  request  to  make  which 
he  feared  might  not  be  granted. 

"I  have  come  for  you,"  he  said.  "Louis 
wants  to  see  you.  I  have  been  charged  to 
bring  you  back  with  me,  if  possible.  I  wish 
I  could  save  you  fron  this  ordeal.  Do  yon 
shrink  from  it  very  much?" 


AN    ESCAPED    VICTIM.  403 

"  No,"  she  said  with  quiet  gravity.  "  Only 
as  one  shrinks  from  seeing  errors  that  one 
is  powerless  to  help.  Why  am  I  wanted, 
Mr.  Chessney?  What  can  I  do!" 

"  I  do  not  know.  Louis  wants  you.  He 
wishes  to  see  you  and  his  mother  and  his 
sister  Alice  together,  and  I  shall  have  to 
add  that  he  wants  me  to  be  present.  I 
tried  to  spare  you  all  this  last,  but  he  grew 
excited  over  it." 

"  I  would  quite  as  soon  have  you  pres 
ent,"  Claire  said,  with  gentle  wonder.  She 
did  not  understand  why  it  was  supposed 
to  be  a  time  of  special  trial  to  her  individ 
ually.  If  she  could  have  heard  Mrs.  An- 
sted's  voice  in  confidential  talk  with  Mr. 
Chessney,  she  would  have  been  enlight 
ened. 

"  The  girl  is  well  enough,  Mr.  Chessney, 
and  she  has  been  of  help  to  some  of  the 
lower  classes  here  during  the  winter.  I 
have  nothing  against  her ;  on  the  contrary, 
I  would  like  to  shield  her.  The  simple 
fact  is  that  she  has  become  too  deeply  in 
terested  in  my  son.  It  is  not  strange,  I  am 


404  INTERRUPTED. 

sure,  but  it  is  sad ;  and  that  is  why  I  do 
not  wish  Alice  to  have  her  here  at  this 
time.  As  a  mother,  it  is  my  duty  to  shield 
the  girl,  though  I  must  say  she  showed 
very  little  consideration  for  a  mother's  feel 
ings  when  she  talked  with  me."  All  this, 
and  much  more,  which  Mr.  Chessney  weighed, 
putting  his  nephew's  views  beside  them,  and 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  an 
attachment  between  the  two  young  people 
which  had  not  been  smiled  upon  by  their 
elders. 

Although  Claire  knew  nothing  of  this, 
her  appearance  in  the  sick-room  was  at 
tended  with  sufficient  embarrassment.  Mrs. 
Ansted  received  her  with  a  sort  of  grave 
tolerance,  as  one  who  was  humoring  the 
whim  of  a  sick  man,  and  doing  violence  to 
her  own  sense  of  propriety  thereby.  But 
the  change  in  Louis  Ansted  was  so  great, 
that,  after  the  first  moment,  it  held  Claire's 
thoughts,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  trivial 
things. 

He  held  toward  her  a  thin  and  trembling 
hand,  as  he  said : 


AN    ESCAPED   VICTIM.  405 

"  It  was  good  in  you  to  come.  I  have 
changed  a  great  deal  since  that  night  you 
refused  to  ride  with  me,  haven't  I  ?  Yes, 
I  have  changed  since  then.  Has  Harold 
told  you  that  I  have  found  help  at  last  ? " 

"  He  has  told  me  wonderful  and  blessed 
news  of  you,"  Claire  said,  taking  the  chair 
that  Mr.  Chessney  brought  to  the  bedside. 
"  I  do  not  need  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  was 
to  hear  it. 

"No,  you  don't;  that  is  true.  You  have 
given  ample  proof  that  nothing  which  could 
happen  to  a  friend  of  yours  could  rejoice 
you  more.  I  wish  I  had  met  you  earlier ; 
it  would  have  made  a  difference,  a  great 
difference  in  my  life.  I  did  not  know  that 
religion  meant  much  of  anything.  Harold, 
here,  was  of  your  mind,  but  he  seemed  ex 
ceptional  —  a  kind  of  fanatic  ;  I  could  not 
keep  within  sight  of  him.  The  other  people 
whom  I  knew  intimately,  seemed  to  have 
very  little  to  do  with  their  religion.  I  beg 
your  pardon,  mother,  but  that  was  the  way 
it  seemed  to  me.  There  are  different  degrees, 
I  suppose." 


406  INTERRUPTED. 

"Louis,  you  are  talking  too  much,"  here 
interposed  Mr.  Chessney,  as  he  brought 
the  medicine  to  administer ;  "  your  pulse  is 
rising." 

"Never  mind,  it  won't  hurt  me.  It  is 
almost  over  now ;  you  know  that,  Chessney, 
as  well  as  I  do.  And  I  have  something  to 
say,  that  for  the  good  of  all  parties  con 
cerned,  must  be  said  now.  Mother,  I  want 
you  to  know  one  thing :  from  words  which  you 
let  fall  yesterday,  I  have  discovered  that  you 
have  a  mistaken  idea  about  one  matter.  I 
am  going  to  die,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  I 
have  gone  so  far  down  hill,  that  to  climb 
back  again,  for  one  so  awfully  bruised  as  I 
am,  would  be  hard,  very  hard ;  perhaps  the 
Lord  sees  that  it  would  be  impossible,  and 
so  gives  me  this  easy  way.  But,  mother, 
before  I  go,  I  want  to  tell  you  something 
which  will  remove  from  your  mind  a  false 
impression.  I  saw  my  danger  some  time  ago, 
and  struggled  for  a  way  of  escape.  It  was 
a  weak  way  that  I  chose ;  God  would  not 
let  me  build  on  it.  I  fancied  that  if  I 
could  have  Claire  Benedict  for  my  wife,  I 


AN    ESCAPED    VICTIM.  4O/ 

could  be  a  good  and  true  man.  I  implored 
her  to  help  me  in  this  way,  and  she  ut 
terly  and  hopelessly  refused. 

"  You  know  why  I  am  telling  you  this, 
but  she  does  not,  and  I  ask  her  to  forgive 
me." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  SUMMER'S  STORY. 

AFTER  this  Louis  Ansted  steadily 
failed.  It  had  seemed  as  though  he 
summoned  all  the  strength  left  in  his  worn- 
out  body  for  that  one  interview  wherein  he 
had  resolved  that  his  mother  should  know 
the  truth  from  his  lips. 

After  that  the  lamp  of  life  burned  lower 
and  lower.  He  rallied  again,  two  days 
afterward,  and  was  locked  in  with  his  law 
yer,  and  gave  critical  attention  to  business. 

"I  imagine  that  he  made  important  changes 
in  his  will,"  Mr.  Chessney  said  to  Claire.  "I 
do  not  know  of  what  character,  though  I 
was  called  in  as  a  witness.  I  hope  he 
made  special  provision  for  his  sister  Alice. 
I  think  that  she  is  likely  to  disappoint  her 

parents    in    their    schemes,    and    it   might    be 

408 


THE   SUMMER  S    STORY.  409 

greatly  to  her  comfort  to  be  independent,  so 
far  as  property  is'  concerned.  But  Louis 
kept  his  own  counsel.  His  lawyer  told  me 
that  he  might  be  failing  in  body,  but  he 
had  never  seen  him  clearer  in  brain.  So 
there  will  be  no  trouble  about  carrying  out 
whatever  he  has  planned." 

"  I    did    not   know,"    Claire    said,    "  that   he 

• 

had  property  to  leave,  independent  of  his 
parents." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  a  large  estate,  willed  to  him 
from  his  grandfather,  absolutely  in  his  own 
right.  It  is  what  has  helped  to  ruin  him." 

"  How  good  it  would  be  if  he  could  make 
his  money  undo,  so  far  as  money  could, 
some  of  the  mischief  he  has  done." 

"How   could   money  undo   it,   my  friend?" 

"Oh,  it  couldn't.  Still,  it  might  relieve 
the  misery  which  comes  from  want.  I  was 
thinking  just  then  of  poor  little  Mrs.  Simp 
son  and  her  fatherless  baby.  I  have  heard 
that  her  husband  drank  his  first  glass  while 
in  Lonis  Ansted's  employ,  and  that  Louis 
offered  it  to  him,  and  he  did  not  like  to 
refuse  for  fear  of  giving  offense.  He  died 


4IO  INTERRUPTED. 

with  the  delirium  tremens,  and  his  wife 
sold  her  bedclothes  and  her  shoes  to  buy 
food  for  him  at  the  last.  Perhaps  she  would 
rather  starve  than  take  money  from  poor 
Louis.  Haven't  I  heard  that  he  was  con 
nected  with  one  of  the  distilleries?" 

"Some  of  his  property  is  invested  in  that 
way,"  Mr.  Chessney  answered,  startled  with 
the  remembrance.  "I  had  not  thought  of 
it.  Poor  Alice !  I  am  afraid  there  is  great 
trouble  for  her  in  whatever  direction  one 
looks.  If  Louis  leaves  his  property  to  her, 
her  father  and  mother  will  violently  oppose 
what  her  intense  temperance  principles 
would  advocate.  I  wish  Louis  had  felt  like 
talking  these  things  over  with  me  a  little." 

Well,  the  day  came  when  they  followed 
the  ruined  body  to  the  grave.  It  rested  in 
a  costly  coffin,  and  the  funeral  appointments 
were  such  as  became  large  wealth  and  the 
habit  of  lavish  expenditure. 

Later,  when  the  will  was  read,  it  ap 
peared  that  the  poor  heart  had  taken  coun 
sel  of  One  who  makes  no  mistakes.  He  had 
done  what  he  could  to  undo  wrong.  The 


THE  SUMMER'S  STORY.  411 

income  from  valuable  investments  was  large, 
and  was  left  iu  trust  to  his  sister  Alice, 
to  be  used  at  her  discretion  in  relieving 
the  woes  of  those  who  had  been  brought 
low  through  the  influence  of  intoxicants. 
As  for  the  distillery  from  which  half  of  his 
income  was  derived,  its  business  was  imme 
diately  to  cease,  its  stock  was  to  be  destroyed, 
and  its  buildings  to  be  made  into  tenement- 
houses  for  the  poor. 

"  The  poor  boy  was  not  in  his  right  mind 
when  he  made  such  a  will,"  the  father  said. 
"  Why,  it  is  a  sinful  waste ;  it  is  simply 
throwing  thousands  of  dollars  into  the  river." 

"It  is  all  the  influence  of  that  Benedict 
girl,"  the  mother  said,  in  bitterness  of  spirit. 

But  the  will  stood,  and  its  directions  were 
obeyed  with  all  the  promptness  that  the  sis 
ter  to  whose  trust  the  work  was  left,  could 
force  her  lawyers.  She  seemed  in  feverish 
haste  to  have  the  work  of  destruction  go 
on.  And  when  her  mother  accused  her  of 
being  hopelessly  under  the  influence  of  "that 
Benedict  girl,"  a^d  having  no  mind  of  her 
own,  her  answer  was : 


41 2  INTERRUPTED. 

"  Mamma,  you  are  mistaken.  At  last  I 
am  under  the  influence  of  One  who  has  a 
right  to  own  me,  body  and  soul.  Poor 
Louis  found  Him  at  last,  and  yielded  to 
his  power,  and  followed  his  direction,  and 
it  was  through  Claire  Benedict's  influence 
that  he  did;  and,  mamma,  if  he  had  known 
Claire  Benedict  a  few  years  earlier,  we 
should  have  him  with  us  to-day.  Mamma, 
the  time  has  come  for  me  to  speak  plainly. 
Religion  has  been  nothing  but  a  name  to 
me  until  lately.  I  have  not  believed  in  its 
power.  It  is  Claire  Benedict  who  has 
shown  me  my  mistake,  and  helped  me  to 
see  Christ  as  a  sufficient  Saviour.  I  belong 
to  him  now  for  time  and  eternity,  and, 
mamma,  I  will  never  marry  a  man  who 
does  not  with  his  whole  heart  own  Christ 
as  his  Master,  and  who  is  not  as  intense 
and  fanatical  on  the  temperance  question  as 
my  brother  became." 

She  had  always  been  strong-willed.  The 
mother  had  been  wont  to  say,  somewhat 
boastfully,  that  her  oldest  daughter  resem 
bled  her  in  strength  of  purpose. 


THE    SUMMERS    STORY.  413 

Human  nature  is  a  curious  study.  What 
Mrs.  Ansted  would  do,  had  been  a  matter 
of  extreme  solicitude  to  several  people.  Mr. 
Chessney  believed  that  she  would  make 
Alice's  life  miserable ;  that  she  would  be 
come  Claire  Benedict's  enemy,  and  injure 
her  if  she  could,  and  that  she  would  with 
draw  her  younger  daughters  from  not  only 
Claire's,  but  their  eldest  sister's  influence, 
and  from  the  church  to  which  they  had  be 
come  attached. 

"  I  do  not  mean  that  she  will  do  this  in 
revenge,"  he  said  to  Claire,  "  or  that  she 
will  really  intend  to  injure  anybody.  She 
is  one  of  those  persons  who  can  make  her 
self  believe  that  she  is  doing  God's  service 
by  just  such  management  as  this.  I  am  sorry 
for  Alice  and  for  the  young  girls.  It  gives 
me  a  sense  of  relief  and  joy  to  remember 
that  Louis  is  forever  safe  from  pitfalls,  and 
yet  sometimes  I  can  not  help  wishing  that 
he  could  have  lived  for  a  few  months  longer. 
He  had  great  influence  over  his  mother. 
She  tried  to  manage  him,  and  his  indolent 
will  allowed  himself  to  be  influenced  in  a 


INTERRUPTED. 

wonderful  manner,  but  when  he  did  really 
rouse,  he  had  greal  power  over  his  mother." 

Mrs.  Ansted  did  none  of  the  things  which 
were  feared.  Instead,  she  turned  suddenly, 
and  with  apparent  loathing,  from  the  life 
which  she  had  heretofore  lived.  She  sent 
for  Claire  one  morning,  greeted  her  with  a 
burst  of  tears  as  her  dear  child,  and  de 
clared  that  had  she  understood  the  feeling 
between  Louis  and  herself  nothing  would 
have  given  her  greater  joy  than  to  have 
welcomed  her  into  the  family. 

Claire  opened  her  mouth  to  protest  and 
then  closed  it  again.  If  this  were  the  form 
of  cross  that  she  was  to  bear,  it  was  pecu 
liar,  certainly ;  but  why  not  bear  it  as  well 
as  any  other?  Of  what  use  to  explain 
again,  what  the  son's  own  lips  had  told, 
that  she  had  utterly  refused  the  honor  of 
fered  her  —  that  she  had  never  for  a  mo 
ment  desired  to  be  received  into  this  family? 
If  the  bereaved  mother  had  really  succeeded 
iu  making  herself  believe  such  folly  as  this, 
why  not  let  it  pass  —  the  grave  had  closed 
over  the  possibility  of  its  ever  being  realized  ? 


THE    SUMMERS   STORY.  415 

It  was  a  strange  part  to  play  —  to  accept 
without  outward  protest  the  position  of  one 
who  would  have  been  a  daughter  of  the  house , 
to  hear  herself  mentioned  as  Louis  Ansted's 
intended  wife ;  to  ride,  and  walk,  and  talk 
with  the  mother,  and  help  her  make  believe 
that  she  would  not  for  the  world  have 
thwarted  her  son's  desires ;  but  Claire,  after 
a  few  attempts  at  explanation,  dropped  the 
effort.  The  mother  did  not  wish  to  believe 
the  truth  about  this,  or  many  other  things, 
and  therefore  closed  her  eyes  to  them. 

She  wished  also  to  impress  herself  and 
others  with  the  belief  that  Louis  had  been 
in  every  respect  an  exemplary,  and,  indeed, 
a  remarkable  young  man.  She  withdrew 
her  connection  with  the  church  in  town 
and  united  by  letter  with  the  one  at  South 
Plains;  avowedly,  because  "dear  Louis  was 
interested  in  it  more  than  in  any  other 
church  in  the  world."  She  imagined  plans 
that  he  might  have  had  for  the  church,  and 
called  them  his,  and  eagerly  worked  them 
out.  She  adopted  the  minister,  and  his  wife 
and  his  children,  because  she  had  often 


41 6  INTERRUPTED. 

heard  Louis  say  that  he  would  rather  hear 
that  man  preacli  than  to  hear  Doctor  Archer ; 
and  once  he  told  her  that  the  minister's 
little  girl  had  a  very  sweet  face,  and  was 
a  cunning  little  witch  whom  he  liked  to 
tease.  She  turned  with  something  like  dis 
gust  from  the  very  name  of  VanMarter, 
protesting  that  "poor  Louis  had  had  a  great 
deal  to  bear  from  their  advances,"  and  that 
she  had  no  desire  to  cultivate  their  acquaint 
ance  further. 

On  all  these  strange  changes  in  her 
mother  Alice  looked  with  bewilderment. 

"She  frightens  me,"  she  said  to  Claire 
one  evening,  "I  don't  know  what  to  think. 
She  contradicts  every  theory  of  life  I  ever 
heard  her  express.  She  attributes  to  Louis 
graces  that  he  did  not  possess.  She  accuses 
people  of  injuring  him,  who  really  tried  to 
help  him,  and  she  adopts  as  plans  of  his, 
things  of  which  I  know  he  had  not  even 
thought.  I  do  not  know  my  mother  at  all ; 
and  as  I  said,  it  frightens  me.  Is  she  los 
ing  her  mind?" 

Claire   had   no    ready   reply  to    these   ques- 


THE  SUMMER'S  STORY.  417 

tionings,  for  she,  too,  was  puzzled.  But  Mr. 
Chessney,  as  they  walked  slowly  down  from 
the  house  on  the  hill,  discussing  once  more 
the  strange  change  in  the  woman  of  the 
world,  advanced  a  theory  which  Claire 
adopted,  but  which  was  hardly  the  one  to 
explain  to  Alice. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Chessney,  "that  she 
is  hushing  her  conscience.  It  would  like  to 
speak  loudly  to  her,  and  tell  her  that  she 
is  responsible  for  a  ruined  life,  and  she  does 
not  mean  to  listen  to  it.  She  is  imagining  a 
life  she  believes  Louis  might  have  lived, 
after  the  change  that  came  to  him  on  his 
sick-bed,  and  is  making  herself  believe  that 
he  did  live  it,  and  that  she  was,  and  is, 
in  hearty  accord  with  it.  It  is  a  strange 
freak  of  the  bewildering  human  mind^  but 
unless  I  am  mistaken,  the  woman  will  not 
find  the  peace  in  it  that  she  is  seeking.  I 
think  she  will  have  to  cry,  '  God  be  merci 
ful  to  rne  a  sinner,'  before  her  heart  will 
find  rest." 

And .  then  he  added  one  sentence  which 
set  Claire's  heart  into  a  strange  flutter: 


41 8  INTERRUPTED. 

"Claire,  when  I  see  the  energy  with 
which  she  carries  out  one  of  her  imaginings, 
connected  with  you,  I  am  very  grateful  that 
Louis  insisted  on  my  being  present  at  that 
first  interview  between  you  and  him,  and  that 
I  heard  the  truth  from  his  own  lips,  for  the 
mother  is  succeeding  in  deceiving  every  one 
else." 

"  And  I  do  not  know  how  to  help  it," 
Claire  said,  with  troubled  voice.  "It  seems 
a  strange  thing  to  be  living  a  falsehood ; 
but  when  I  try  to  explain  to  her,  sjie  puts 
me  gently  aside,  and  acts  as  though  I  had 
not  spoken ;  and  others  have  no  right  to 
question  me  about  the  truth  of  her  theo 
ries." 

"Except  myself.  Have  I  the  right?  Was 
it  as  .emphatic  a  refusal  as  poor  Louis  un 
derstood  it  ?  Believe  me,  I  am  not  asking 
merety  to  gratify  idle  curiosity." 

"  There  never  was  anything  in  it,  Mr. 
Chessney,  and  there  never  could  have  been." 

The  passage  of  all  these  and  many  other 
events  not  chronicled  here,  consumed  the 
greater  portion  of  the  summer  vacation. 


THE    SUMMER  S    STORY.  419 

For  Claire  Benedict  was  letting  the  summer 
slip  from  her  without  going  home.  Sore  had 
been  the  trial  at  first;  but  a  few  weeks 
before  the  term  closed,  opportunity  had  been 
offered  her  to  teach  a  summer  class  of  city 
pupils,  at  prices  that  were  almost  equal  to 
her  year's  salary.  What  right  had  she,  who 
wanted  to  bestow  so  many  luxuries  on  her 
mother,  to  close  her  eyes  to  such  an  op 
portunity  as  this,  merely  because  she  was 
homesick  for  a  sight  of  that  mother's  face? 
It  had  been  hard  to  reconcile  the  sister,  es 
pecially,  to  this  new  state  of  things.  The 
gentle  mother  had  long  ago  learned  the  les 
son  that  what  looked  like  manifest  duty 
must  not  be  tampered  with,  no  matter  how 
hard  to  bear ;  but  the  hot-hearted  young 
sister  refused  to  see  anything  in  it  except 
an  added  trial  too  great  to  be  borne.  Many 
letters  had  to  be  written  before  there  was 
a  final  reluctant  admission  that  two  hundred 
dollars  more  to  depend  on,  paltry  sum  though 
it  was,  would  make  a  great  difference  with 
the  mother's  winter  comforts.  The  letter  in 
which  poor  Dora  admitted  this  was  blistered 


42O  INTERRUPTED. 

with  tears ;  but  the  sacrifice  was  made, 
and  the  extra  term  had  been  well  entered 
upon. 

There  was  much  outside  of  the  class  and 
the  life  being  lived  on  the  hill  to  occupy 
Claire's  thoughts.  I  hope  you  do  not  sup 
pose  that  the  work  on  the  part  of  "  the 
girls "  had  been  accomplished  during  a  sort 
of  "spasm,"and  that  now  they  were  ready  to 
drop  back  into  inaction.  Nothing  was  farther 
from  their  thoughts.  If  you  have  imagined  so, 
you  have  not  understood  how  thoroughly 
some  of  them  had  sacrificed  in  order  to 
do.  We  never  forget  that  for  which  we 
sacrifice. 

Besides,  the  habit  of  thinking  first  of  the 
church,  and  the  various  causes  which  are 
the  tributaries  of  the  church,  was  formed. 
That  the  work  was  to  go  on,  was  demon 
strated  in  many  ways  ;  not  the  least  by  the 
random  remarks  which  came  so  naturally  from 
the  lips  of  the  workers. 

"  Girls,"  had  Ruth  Jennings  said,  when 
they  lingered  one  evening  after  prayer- 
meeting,  "  when  we  cushion  these  seats,  we 


THE    SUMMERS    STORY.  421 

shall  have  to  send  somebody  after  the  ma 
terial  who  can  carry  the  carpet  and  wall 
paper  in  his  mind's  eye.  It  will  never  do 
to  have  a  false  note  put  in  here  to  jar  this 
harmony." 

"  When  we  cushion  the  seats ! "  Claire 
heard  it,  and  laughed  softly.  Who  had  said 
that  the  seats  were  ever  to  be  cushioned? 
But  she  knew  they  would  be,  and  that  be 
fore  very  long. 

On  another  evening,  Mary  Burton  had 
said  : 

"  Look  here !  don't  you  think  our  very 
next  thing,  or,  at  least,  one  of  the  next, 
ought  to  be  a  furnace  ?  I  don't  like  those 
stove  pipes,  if  they  are  Russia.  A  furnace 
would  heat  more  evenly,  and  with  less  dust, 
and  Bud  could  manage  a  furnace  as  well  as 
he  can  these  stoves. 

How  naturally  they  talked  about  their 
future  sacrifices  !  What  would  have  utterly 
appalled  them  a  few  months  before,  were 
spoken  of  carelessly  now  as  "  next  things.*' 

Ruth  Jennings  readily  assented  to  the  nec 
essity  for  a  furnace,  but  added : 


422  INTERRUPTED. 

"I  don't  believe  we  shall  have  Bud  for 
engineer.  He  wants  to  go  to  school,  did 
you  know  it  ?  And  what  is  more,  Mrs. 
Ansted  intends  to  send  him.  Fanny  told 
me  about  it  last  night.  She  says  her  mother 
thinks  Louis  intended  that  Bud  should 
have  an  education,  and  she  wants  to  carry 
out  all  his  plans.  I  did  not  know  that 
Louis  Ansted  ever  had  any  such  plans,  did 
you  ?  " 

Then  Nettie  Burdick,  after  a  thoughtful 
pause  : 

"  Oh,  well,  girls,  if  we  can't  have  Bud  for 
engineer,  perhaps  we  can  have  him  to 
preach  for  us  some  day.  He  told  me  last 
night  that  if  he  lived  he  meant  to  preach ; 
and  I  believe  he  will,  and  preach  well,  too. 
Just  think  of  it :  Bud  a  minister  I " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A    FAMILY    SECRET. 

YOU  are  not  to  suppose  that  during 
this  press  of  work  the  moving  spirit 
in  it  did  not  have  her  homesick  hours,  when 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  must  fly  to  her 
mother,  and  that  at  once ;  that  she  did  not 
have  her  anxious  hours,  when  to  provide  as 
she  would  like  for  that  dear  mother  and 
that  beautiful  young  sister  seemed  a  dreary 
impossibility ;  that  she  did  not  have  her  dis 
couraged  hours,  when  new  carpet  and  fres 
coing  and  stained-glass  windows  seemed  only 
"  vanity  of  vanities,"  and  the  sharp-toned 
cabinet  organ  seemed  to  wheeze  loud  enough 
to  drive  all  other  improvements  out  of 
mind.  But  there  was  always  this  comfort; 
she  was  much  too  busy  to  brood  long  or 
often  over  thoughts  like  these ;  and  another 
423 


424  INTERRUPTED. 

thing;  weary  and  disheartened  as  some  rainy 
evening  might  find  her,  there  was  forever 
an  undertone  of  thanksgiving  about  Bud  and 
Harry  Matthews,  not  only,  but  about  others 
as  well ;  not  excepting  several  of  the  gh'ls, 
who,  though  Christians  before  she  knew  them, 
had  stepped  upon  higher  planes  of  thought 
and  action  —  been  vitalized,  indeed,  in  their 
Christian  life,  and  would  never  go  back  to 
the  follies  of  the  past.  Then  came  the 
trouble  in  the  Ansted  home,  and  the  weeks 
of  waiting  and  watching,  and  the  final  defeat 
which  was  still  a  triumph.  During  the  solem 
nities  of  those  hours,  things  which  had 
seemed  like  trials  sank  into  trivialities,  arid 
life  grew  to  her  more  earnest  and  solemn 
than  ever  before. 

In  all  these  ways  the  summer  waned. 
And  now  changes  of  various  kinds  were 
pending.  Harry  Matthews  was  about  clos 
ing  his  engagement  with  the  telegraph  com 
pany,  to  enter  upon  a  secretaryship  under  his 
uncle  —  a  position  involving  grave  respon 
sibilities  and  conscientious  stewardship.  What 
joy  it  was  to  remember  that  the  new  young 


A    FAMILY   SECRET.  425 

man  was  equal  to  the  trust.  Bud  was 
to  be  regularly  entered  as  a  pupil  at  the 
Academy,  and  his  face  was  radiant.  The 
Ansteds  were  to  stay  at  South  Plains  all 
winter,  and  the  girls  were  happy  over  the 
prospect  of  uniting  with  the  little  church 
at  its  coming  communion.  Mrs.  Ansted  had 
subscribed  a  hundred  dollar  addition  to  the 
minister's  salary,  and  told  the  people  that 
they  ought  to  feel  disgraced  for  not  each 
giving  doubly  the  original  amount;  that  her 
son  Louis,  she  felt  sure,  would  have  taken 
the  matter  up  had  he  lived,  and  she  could 
not  rest  until  she  saw  it  accomplished. 

Meantime,  there  was  more  or  less  gossip 
in  the  town,  of  course,  about  affairs  with 
which  the  people,  if  they  had  really  stopped 
to  think,  had  nothing  to  do.  Among  other 
things,  there  was  wonderment  as  to  why 
Harold  Chessney  came  to  South  Plains  so 
often.  What  business  was  there  in  this  di 
rection  which  could  require  so  much  atten 
tion?  To  be  sure,  he  was  one  of  the  Di 
rectors  of  the  railroad,  but  this  branch  of 
it  had  not  heretofore  been  considered  so 


426  INTERRUPTED. 

important  as  to  need  constant  looking  after 
by  its  chief.  Also  there  were  some  who 
thought  it  very  strange  that  that  Miss  Bene 
dict  would  receive  so  many  attentions  from 
him,  when  she  was  as  good  as  Louis  An- 
sted's  widow!  Of  course  that  was  so,  for 
Mrs.  Ansted  herself  had  as  good  as  said  so 
dozens  of  times;  and  see  how  intimate  she 
was  with  the  entire  family.  Yes,  they 
knew  that  Harold  Chessney  was  a  very 
particular  friend  of  Louis  Ansted ;  but  they 
should  think  that  would  hardly  account  for 
such  a  degree  of  intimacy,  when  Louis  had 
only  been  buried  a  few  weeks. 

Meantime,  the  central  figures  of  this 
anxious  talk  went  their  busy  ways,  and 
seemed  in  no  sense  troubled  by  the  tongues. 
Harold  Chessney  came  often,  and  always 
visited  the  Ansteds  and  the  Academy,  and 
the  intimacy  between  all  parties  seemed  to 
increase  instead  of  diminish. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Claire  re 
ceived  an  unusually  lengthy  letter  from 
Dora;  a  letter  over  which  she  laughed  much, 
and  also  shed  some  tears. 


A   FAMILY   SECRET.  427 

Dora  had  some  family  perplexities  to  ask 
advice  about,  and  indulged  rather  more  than 
was  her  wont  over  forebodings  in  regard  to 
the  coming  winter.  Then  suddenly  she 
launched  into  the  main  channel  of  her  let 
ter  after  this  fashion : 

"  Oh,  Claire,  my  dear,  you  are  good !  If 
I  could  be  half  like  you,  or  even  one  third, 
it  would  be  such  a  relief  to  mamma  as  well 
as  to  myself.  But  Claire  (this  next  that  I 
am  going  to  say  is  mean,  and  small,  and 
will  serve  to  show  you  that  I  have  a  cor 
rect  estimate  of  myself),  I  can  not  help 
thinking  it  would  be  much  easier  for  me 
to  be  good  if  I  were  away  off  in  South 
Plains,  or  North  Mountains,  or  anywhere 
else  than  here,  right  around  the  corner  from 
the  old  home.  Do  you  have  any  conception 
of  what  a  difference  it  makes  to  be  around 
the  corner  from  things,  instead  of  being  on 
the  same  street  with  them  ?  I  think  it  pos 
sible  that  I  might  throw  myself  intensely 
into  plans  for  that  North  Mountain  Church, 
you  know,  if  I  were  there,  and  forget  this 
one,  and  these  people,  and  the  old  ways. 


428  INTERRUPTED. 

"  Claire,  part  of  the  time  I  am  pretty 
good  ;  I  am,  indeed ;  but  really  and  truly, 
it  is  hard.  The  girls  try  to  be  good,  too, 
some  of  them.  Occasionally  I  think  if  they 
did  not  try  so  hard,  I  could  get  along  bet 
ter.  You  see,  they  stop  talking  about  things 
when  I  appear,  for  fear  I  will  be  hurt,  and 
I  am  hurt ;  but  it  is  because  they  think 
I  will  be  foolish  enough  to  care  for  what 
they  have  been  saying.  Do  you  understand 
that?  It  reads  as  though  there  were  no 
sense  in  it;  but  I  know  what  I  mean.  It 
is  clothes,  half  of  the  time.  Clothes  are 
dreadful !  I  find  I  had  no  conception  of 
their  cost.  Not  that  I  am  having  any  new 
ones.  Don't  be  frightened,  dear.  I  am  not 
so  lost  to  a  sense  of  what  has  befallen  us 
as  such  a  proceeding  would  indicate.  Why, 
even  a  pair  of  gloves  is  often  beyond  my 
means !  Neither  am  I  complaining.  It  is 
riot  the  gloves ;  I  am  quite  willing  to  go 
without  them.  If  mamma  could  have  the 
things  which  we  used  to  consider  necessities 
for  her  I  would  be  willing  to  go  bare 
handed  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 


A    FAMILY   SECRET.  429 

"Well,  what  am  I  talking  about?  Let 
me  see  if  I  can  put  it  into  words.  The 
girls,  you  know,  are  always  arranging  for 
this  and  that  entertainment.  I  meet  them 
oftener,  now  that  you  have  insisted  on  my 
going  back  to  the  music  class.  To  some  of 
these  entertainments  I  am  invited,  and  to 
more  of  them  I  am  not.  I  never  go,  on 
account  of  clothes  and  some  other  things. 

"  Imagine  a  party  of  girls  gathered  in  the 
music-room  or  the  hall,  in  full  tide  of  talk 
about  what  they  will  wear,  and  how  they 
will  arrange  their  hair,  and  their  ribbons, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing;  and  imagine  a 
sudden  silence  settling  over  them  because  I 
have  appeared  in  sight,  as  though  I  were  a 
grim  fairy  before  whom  it  was  their  mis 
fortune  to  have  to  be  forever  silent  about 
everything  that  was  pretty,  or  cost  money ! 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  make  a  confession, 
and  I  know  it  is  just  as  silly  as  it  can  be, 
but  sometimes  I  can  not  help  rushing  home, 
and  running  up  to  my  room,  and  locking 
my  door,  and  crying  as  though  my  heart 
would  break. 


43°  INTERRUPTED. 

"  I  am  thoughtful,  though,  about  choosing 
times  and  occasions  for  these  outbreaks.  I 
generally  select  an  afternoon  when  mamma 
is  out  executing  some  of  your  numerous 
commissions;  but  even  then  I  have  to 
bathe  my  eyes  for  half  an  hour  so  that  the 
poor,  dear,  sweet,  patient  woman  will  know 
nothing  about  it.  I  never  do  let  her  know, 
Claire.  She  thinks  that  I  am  good  and 
happy,  and  occasionally  she  tells  me  that 
I  am  growing  self-controlled  like  you,  and 
then  I  feel  like  a  hypocrite ;  but  all  the 
same,  for  her  own  good  I  don't  enlighten 
her. 

"  Claire,  dear,  don't  you  suppose  it  is  the 
silly  parties  to  which  I  do  not  go  which 
trouble  me.  I  have  not  the  slightest  desire 
to  go,  and  I  don't  think  of  them  often ;  I 
don't,  really.  Well,  that  about  having  no 
desire,  needs  qualifying.  I  mean  I  would 
not  have,  if  I  could  go ;  I  mean  I  should 
like  to  be  perfectly  able  to  go  if  I  chose, 
and  then  to  choose  to  remain  at  home.  Do 
you  understand  ? 

"  If  the    girls   would    only   be   free  and   go- 


A   FAMILY   SECRET.  43! 

cial,  and  talk  with  me  as  though  nothing 
had  happened,  I  should  learn  not  to  care. 
But  it  is  so  hard  to  always  feel  that  people 
are  saying:  'Hush!  there  she  comes,  poor 
thing,  don't  talk  about  it  now,  or  we 
shall  hurt  her  feelings !  '  I  would  rather 
have  them  drop  me  entirely,  I  believe,  as 
Estelle  Mitchell  has  done.  She  doesn't 
bow  to  me  any  more,  even  when  we  meet 
face  to  face  ;  doesn't  see  me,  you  know,  but 
she  does  even  that  politely.  I  don't  know 
how  she  manages.  Claire,  do  you  remember 
the  time  papa  signed  that  ten  thousand  dol 
lar  note  for  her  father?  Well,  never  mind. 
I  am  writing  a  silly  and,  a  wicked  letter. 
I  haven't  written  so  to  you  before,  have  I  ? 
I'll  tell  you  what  has  stirred  me  so,  lately , 
everybody  is  in  a  flutter  about  the  house. 
Claire,  it  is  sold.  You  know  what  house  I 
mean;  the  dear  old  one  on  the  avenue, 
every  separate  stone  of  which  speaks  of 
papa.  That  Mr.  Chessney  bought  it,  who 
spends  half  of  his  time  abroad.  There  is 
a  rumor  that  he  is  to  be  married  some  time 
— nobody  seems  to  know  just  when  —  and 


432  INTERRUPTED. 

bring  his  bride  there  to  live.  It  is  well  for 
me  that  I  shall  not  have  a  chance  to  move 
in  her  circle,  for  I  feel  almost  certain  that 
I  should  have  to  hate  her  a  little. 

"It  is  very  absurd,  of  course,  but  the 
girls  are  actually  beginning  already  to  talk 
about  the  possible  reception,  though  they 
don't  even  know  who  the  prospective  bride 
is.  Some  have  located  her  in  Chicago,  and 
some  in  Europe.  I  can  not  discover  that 
there  is  an  absolute  certainty  about  there 
being  any  bride,  and  yet  some  of  the  young 
ladies  are  planning  what  would  be  pretty 
and  unique  to  wear. 

"Estelle  Mitchell  is  sure  of  being  invited^ 
because  her  brother  Dick  used  to  be  quite 
intimately  acquainted  with  one  of  the  Chess- 
ney  family ;  and  Dora  Benedict  is  sure  of 
not  being  invited,  because  she  is  not  inti 
mately  acquainted  with  anybod}7  any  more. 
I  wonder  who  will  have  our  rooms  —  our 
dear  old  rooms  ?  Yes,  that  largest  blot  is  a 
tear.  I  couldn't  help  it,  and  I  haven't  time 
to  copy,  and  could  not  afford  to  waste  the 
paper,  if  I  had.  I  don't  cry  very  often, 


A    FAMILY   SECRET.  433 

but  I  was  foolish  enough  to  walk  by  the 
blessed  old  home  this  morning,  and  look  up 
at  the  open  window  in  papa's  study ! 

"  Oh,  Claire,  darling,  I  wish  you  could 
come  home,  if  it  is  only  for  a  little  while, 
and  we  could  go  away  from  here.  Don't 
you  think  mamma  might  be  made  comfort 
able  in  South  Plains  for  the  winter? 

"  Oh,  that  is  foolish,  I  know ;  and  you 
are  a  dear,  brave,  self-sacrificing  sister,  to 
give  up  your  vacation  and  work  away  all 
summer  to  help  support  us.  To-morrow  I 
shall  not  care  anything  about  this,  only  to 
be  dreadfully  ashamed  that  I  sent  you  this 
wicked  letter. 

"  I  am  going  down  now  to  make  tea,  and 
a  bit  of  cream  toast  for  mother,  and  I 
shall  be  as  bright  as  a  gold  eagle,  and 
hover  around  her  like  a  moth-miller  in  the 
gaslight,  and  tell  her  all  sorts  of  pleasant 
nothings,  and  never  a  word  of  the  house,  or 
the  sale,  or  the  possible  new  mistress  for 
the  old  home.  I  am  learning,  dear,  though 
from  this  letter  you  might  not  think  it. 
But  I  live  such  a  pent-up,  every-day  life 


434  INTERRUPTED. 

that  I  have  to  say  things  to  you  once  in 
a  while,  else  what  would  become  of  me  ? " 

Claire  laughed  a  great  deal  over  this  let 
ter,  pitiful  as  the  undertone  in  it  must  have 
been  to  a  sjrmpathetic  heart.  The  tears 
came  once  or  twice ;  but  after  all,  the  pre 
dominant  feeling  seemed  to  be  amusement. 
It  was  not  answered  promptly ;  in  fact,  she 
waited  three  days ;  then  came  Mr.  Chessney 
for  one  of  his  brief  visits,  and  she  read  the 
letter  aloud  to  him. 

What  Dora  would  have  thought,  could 
she  have  seen  that  proceeding,  passes  my 
imagination. 

What  would  she  have  thought  of  human 
sympathy,  could  she  have  heard  the  bursts 
of  laughter  over  parts  of  it ;  albeit  Mr. 
Chessney  did  once  or  twice  brush  away  a  tear ! 

What  would  she  have  thought  could  she 
have  heard  the  conversation  which  followed : 

"  Now,  my  dear  Claire,  I  hope  you  are 
convinced  of  your  hard-heartedness.  Poor 
Dora  ought  not  to  have  this  strain  kept  on 
her  during  the  autumn,  especially  when  it 
is  so  utterly  unnecessary. 


A    FAMILY    SECRET.  435 

"  The  house  will  be  in  complete  order  in 
a  few  weeks'  time,  and  Dora's  reception  is 
just  the  thing.  I  can  write  to  Phillips,  and 
put  every  arrangement  into  his  hands  and 
we  can  appoint  Dora  manager-in-chief. 

"  Claire,  I  have  a  plan  worth  a  dozen  of 
yours.  Let  us  have  the  mother  and  Dora 
here  for  a  visit.  They  want  to  see  the  lit 
tle  church  which  they  have  helped  to  build. 
Nothing  could  be  pleasanter.  Then  all  your 
girls,  and  all  your  boys,  could  be  present  at 
the  ceremony.  Think  what  that  would  be 
for  Bud!  He  would  never  forget  it.  Neither 
would  this  struggling  minister ;  it  would 
afford  an  excuse  for  doing  for  him  just 
what  we  want  to  do.  The  law  does  not 
regulate  the  amount  of  marriage  fees,  you 
know." 

Mr.  Chessney  was  an  eloquent  pleader ; 
and  Dora's  letter,  it  must  be  confessed, 
plead  against  the  delay  that  Claire  had 
thought  was  wise.  Of  course,  she  demurred; 
of  course,  she  hinted  at  the  plans  that  she 
had  formed  for  getting  ready ;  but  the  party 
on  the  opposite  side  had  an  answer  for 


436  INTERRUPTED. 

every  argument.  He  was  sure  that  the  way 
to  do  would  be  to  get  ready  afterward, 
when  she  would  have  leisure  and  his  in 
valuable  presence  and  advice,  instead  of  be 
ing  hampered  with  music-scholars,  and  he 
miles  away,  alone,  waiting,  and  Dora  wait 
ing  and  suffering,  and  the  mother  thinking 
her  sad  thoughts.  Happy  surprises  were  all 
very  well ;  they  were  delightful.  He  was 
entirely  in  sympathy  with  her  desire  to  tell 
mamma  and  Dora  the  story  of  the  new 
home  in  person,  only  he  believed  with  all 
his  heart  that  it  would  be  cruel,  and  there 
fore  wrong,  to  burden  that  young  heart 
with  the  question  of  ways  and  means  a 
moment  longer  than  was  necessary.  As  for 
Mrs.  Foster,  she  could  supply  Claire's  place 
quietly,  and  thereby  make  some  poor  music- 
teacher's  heart  unexpectedly  glad. 

Of  course,  Claire  was  overruled.  She  had 
really  not  one  sensible  reason  to  offer  why 
she  should  remain  exiled  from  mamma  and 
Dora  any  longer. 

There  was  a  little  feeling  of  pride,  it  is 
true,  about  the  "  getting  ready  afterward ; " 


A   FAMILY   SECRET.  437 

but  as  she  looked  it  over  carefully  and 
prayerfully,  it  seemed,  even  to  herself,  a 
mean  pride,  unworthy  of  the  woman  who 
was  to  be  Harold  Chessney's  wife. 

Then  there  was  a  fascination  in  the  thought 
of  Dora  planning  for  that  reception  —  really 
being  the  one  to  invite  whom  she  would 
among  "  the  girls,"  instead  of  being  the  one 
left  out  in  the  cold. 

Also  it  was  pleasant  to  think  what  an 
event  it  would  be  to  her  girls,  and  to  Bud; 
and  her  cheeks  glowed  over  the  thought  of 
the  marriage-fee  that  would  find  its  way 
into  the  lean  pocket-book  of  the  overburdened 
minister. 

I  would  like  to  tell  you  the  whole  story 
in  detail :  what  Dora  said  when  the  letter 
came  imploring  her  mother  and  herself  to 
come  to  South  Plains  for  a  few  weeks' 
visit ;  how  the  mother  demurred  on  the 
ground  of  expense,  and  yet  confessed  that 
it  made  her  heart  beat  wildly  to  think  of  get 
ting  her  arms  around  Claire  again. 

"  But  I  can  not  think  what  has  become 
of  the  dear  child's  good  sense,"  she  would 


INTERRUPTED. 

add,  with  a  sigh.  "  Why,  Dora  dear,  she 
did  not  come  home,  you  know,  because  the 
trip  would  cost  so  much,  and  here  she  is 
planning  for  two  of  us  to  take  it." 

"Never  mind,  mamma,"  would  Dora  re 
ply,  for  Dora  was  desperately  determined 
on  this  trip  to  South  Plains,  "  Claire  has 
planned  a  way;  and  we  shall  save  our  food 
if  we  stay  two  weeks,  and  that  will  be 
something;  and  she  has  sent  us  the  tickets, 
so  the  money  is  spent.  Oh,  mamma,  let  us 
go  anyway" 

And  of  course  they  went.  Yes,  I  would 
delight  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  What  a 
sensation  there  was  in  South  Plains,  and 
how  full  the  little  church  was,  and  how 
well  Bud  looked  walking  down  the  aisle  as 
one  of  the  ushers,  and  how  people  said  the 
Ansteds  certainly  would  not  come,  they 
would  feel  it  a  family  insult,  but  how  the 
Ansteds  not  only  came,  but  took  almost  en 
tire  charge  of  everything. 

Above  all,  I  should  like  to  have  you  look 
in  with  me  at  the  parsonage,  in  the  study, 
where  the  minister  and  his  wife  stopped  to 


A    FAMILY    SECRET.  439 

break   the   seal  of  that   special   envelope   after 

A 

it  was  all  over;  how  he  rubbed  his  eyes, 
and  looked,  and  looked  again,  and  turned 
pale,  and  said,  huskily: 

"  There  is  some  mistake  here,  Mary ;  he 
has  given  me  the  wrong  paper." 

And  how  she  came  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  and  said: 

"  Why,  it  has  your  full  name.  How  can 
there  be  a  mistake?"  And  then  she  read, 
"Pay  to  Rev.  Henry  Ramsey,  or  order,  one 
thousand  dollars. ." 

Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  marriage-fee 
as  that ! 

Oh,  now,  I  have ;  there  have  been  just 
such  marriage-fees  as  that,  really  and  truly. 
There  had  been  such  before  Harold  Chess- 
ney  and  Claire  Benedict  were  married,  and 
there  will  be  such  again.  There  are  poor 
ministers  and  grand,  rich  men,  and  there 
will  be,  I  presume,  while  the  world  stands. 
More  things  than  some  people  dream  of  are 
going  on  in  this  world  of  ours. 

There  is  one  thing  which  it  gives  me  great 
pleasure  to  record.  There  was  a 


44-O  INTERRUPTED. 

given  in    the  old  home.     It  was   after  mamma 

» 

and  Dora  had  been  established  for  several 
days  in  their  old  rooms,  and  it  was  the  even 
ing  after  the  arrival  of  the  bride  and  groom, 
and  Estelle  Mitchell  was  invited  to  the  re 
ception.  Not  because  her  brother  Dick  had 
been  intimate  with  one  of  the  Chessneys,  but 
because  — 

"My  brother  Harold  gave  me  liberty  to 
invite  whoever  I  pleased  among  my  class 
mates,  and  it  would  give  me  pleasure  to  see 
you  there." 

Dora  spoke  truth.  It  really  gave  her 
great  pleasure  to  see  Estelle  Mitchell  at  the 
wedding  reception  of  the  Chessneys,  and  to 
realize  that  she  was  her  guest ! 

"  Oh,  you  wicked,  wicked  Dora ! "  some 
of  them  said,  when  the  excitement  caused 
by  the  reception  cards  was  at  his  height, 
"  there  you  heard  us  talking  about  the  new 
furniture,  and  wondering  as  to  who  was  the 
bride,  and  you  never  gave  us  so  much  as  a 
hint !  " 

Dora  laughed,  and  kept  her  own  counsel. 
She  did  not  choose  to  tell  them  that  dur- 


A  FAMILY   SECRET.  44! 

ing  those  trying  days  no  hint  of  it  had 
come  to  her.  That  was  their  pretty  family 
secret,  with  which  outsiders  were  not  to 
intermeddle. 

They  agreed,  every  one  of  them,  that 
Dora  made  a  charming  young  hostess,  and 
Estelle  Mitchell  said  she  was  glad  she  was 
back  in  her  old  home,  for  she  just  fitted. 

There  are  but  two  things  which  remain 
to  tell  you.  One  grew  out  of  Ruth  Jen 
nings'  farewell  words  to  her  beloved  music- 
teacher,  spoken  while  she  was  half-laughing, 
half-crying,  arid  wholly  heart-broken: 

"But  the  organ  does  squeak  horribly; 
you  know  it  does;  and  it  is  always  getting 
out  of  tune." 

Mr.  Chessney  heard  it,  and  during  their 
wedding-trip  he  said  to  his  wife: 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  want  you  to  help 
me  select.  I  have  not  made  my  thank- 
offering  yet  to  that  blessed  little  church 
where  I  found  you.  It  must  have  an  organ 
that  will  keep  in  tune,  and  that  will  worth 
ily  commemorate  the  harmony  that  was  be 
gun  there." 


442  INTERRUPTED. 

Imagine,  please,  for  I  shall  not  attempt 
to  tell  you,  the  delight,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  unspeakable  wonder,  of  the  girls,  and 
of  the  entire  community,  when  the  beauti 
fully-finished,  exquisitely-toned  bit  of  mech 
anism  was  set  up  in  the  church. 

Accompanying  it  were  two  organ  stools, 
one  for  the  church  and  one  for  Ruth  Jen 
nings'  home ;  so  she  sits  on  dictionaries  and 
Patent  Office  Reports  no  more. 

The  other  item  can  be  told  more  briefly. 
It  is  embodied  in  a  sentence  which  the 
gentle  mother  spoke  one"  morning  at  the 
breakfast-table : 

"  By  the  way,  Claire,  the  committee  about 
the  Mission  Band  entertainment  was  here 
yesterday  while  you  and  Harold  were  out, 
to  see  if  you  would  help  them.  I  told  them 
I  thought  you  would." 

The  face  of  the  bride  flushed  deeply,  and 
a  peculiarly  tender  light  shone  in  her  eyes 
as  she  said : 

"  How  very  strange  that  is  I  It  is  the 
same  Band  which  was  preparing  for  that 
exercise  about  which  I  told  you.  We  were 


A    FAMILY    SECRET.  443 

to  have  had  it  on  the  day  in  which  papa 
was  buried." 

"  It  is  the  same  exercise,"  Dora  said, 
speaking  gently.  "  The  girls  dropped  it 
entirely,  and  could  never  persuade  them 
selves  to  take  hold  of  it  again,  until  last 
week  they  voted  to  attempt  it." 

"  You  were  only  interrupted  in  your  work, 
you  see,"  Mr.  Chessney  said,  smiling  down 
on  eyes  that  were  filling  with  tears.  "  In 
terrupted,  that  you  might  set  some  wheels 
in  motion  that  had  been  clogged ;  now  you 
are  called  back  to  finish  the  other,  and  I 
am  here  to  help  you." 


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87.  Gertrude's  Diary.  98.  Stories  from  the  Life  of  Jesus. 

88.  Glimpses  of  Boyhood.  99.  Stories  of  Great  Men. 

89.  Glimpses  of  Girlhood.  oo.  Stories  of  Remarkable  Women. 

90.  Grace  Holbrook.  01.  Story  of  Puff. 

91.  Hedge  Fence.  02.  The:r  Vacation. 

92.  Helen  the  Historian.  03.  We  Twelve  Girls. 

93.  Her  Mother's  Bible.  •        04.  World  of  Little  People  (A). 

94.  Kaleidoscope  (The).  

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22.  Man  of  the  House. 

23.  Mrs.  Solomon  Smith  Looking  On. 

24.  New  Graft  on  the  Family  Tree  (A). 

25.  One  Commonplace  Day. 

26.  Overruled. 

27.  Pocket  Measure  (The). 

28.  Prince  of  Peace  (The). 

29.  Randolphs  (The). 

30.  Ruth  Erskine's  Crosses. 

31.  Sevenfold  Trouble  (A). 

32.  Spun  from  Fact. 

33.  Stephen  Mitchell's  Journey. 

34.  Those  Boys. 

35.  Three  People. 

36.  Tip  Lewis  and  His  Lamp. 

37.  Twenty  Minutes  Late. 

38.  Wanted. 

39.  What  They  Couldn't. 

40.  Wise  and  Otherwise. 

41.  Yesterday  Framed  in  To-day. 

volume. 

48.  Modern  Exodus  (A). 

49.  Modern  Prophets. 

50.  Only  Ten  Cents. 

51.  Profiles. 

52.  Reuben's  Hindrances. 

53.  Sidney  Martin's  Christmas. 


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